


Post Tenebras, Lux

by kynths



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: And a happy ending, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Childhood Trauma, Drug Use, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I promise there will be fluff, Love Confessions, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, There will be fluff, be careful when reading, because I like putting my characters through hell and make them happy after, i guess that's it?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kynths/pseuds/kynths
Summary: After some questionable life choices, the former assassin and Grand Champion of the Arena Sarah ends up locked in the Imperial City Prison, where she meets Emperor Uriel Septim and is sent on a quest to save Tamriel. Unbeknownst to her, Fate has her path entwined with other people's and along the way, she'll help not only others but herself as well.Guys, this can be trigerring for some people, it deals with anxiety and panic attacks, so be careful, ok? You can find me on Tumblr as kynths!I created a playlist on Spotify with all the songs I use in the beginning of the chapters, I'll update it together with the chapters: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5we65vuVMh51zwBmy1XXNV?si=OGQsfSrPT8mkM4mQsgGAug
Relationships: Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim, Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim
Comments: 18
Kudos: 25





	1. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know, what you know  
> Cause you're down, all around  
> With the same stupid crowd that left you  
> Broken  
> Was it cause, they got you high?  
> Higher up, in your mind  
> Now you're stuck  
> Losing sight, of what's in your head"
> 
> Just What You Need - The Lost & Found Workshop

“What are you waiting for? Kill me!”

“No! Gro, I’m so sorry! Please, I surrender! Let’s stop this now!”

The sword trembled in Sarah’s hand and the tears streamed freely down her face. Everything was hazy and blurry, she could barely distinguish what Agronak gro-Malog was saying above the booing and the swearing coming from the impatient and unsatisfied audience of the Imperial Arena.

This had been a mistake, a stupid decision she made in a moment of panic and illogical thinking but it was too late now, Gro was determined to die today and he expected her to deliver the blow.

“Gro! Please, listen to me! We can find a way around it! Listen to me, I beg you!”. Her voice was shakier with each passing moment, with every word she tried to yell above the raging crowd, her voice became hoarser and weaker. Her lungs burned as she tried to gulp air to stop the dizziness that threatened to overcome her mind and she could feel her heartbeats in every fiber of her being.

“Please, just kill me! Can’t you see? It’s what I want!”, screamed The Gray Prince as desperate as she was. In contrast to her, Gro had a resigned look in his eyes, they were focused on her contorted face as he tried to make her understand that he indeed want to end his life. The shame of being the son of a vampire was too much for him and he saw little reason in living his life with it. His body was still ready for combat but he would offer no resistance if she decided to strike him down. On the other hand, Sarah’s stance had slumped, her arms hanged idly on either side of her torso.

“Go on with it!”, “Kill him!”, “Start fighting!” “Stop fucking around and get to it!” were some of the complaints that could be heard coming from the crowd in the Arena. Of course, they had been waiting for this fight since Sarah starting ascending quickly through the ranks of the Blue Team: the Blue Team Champion against The Gray Prince. They’ve paid to see an epic fight to death between the two warriors and were seeing The Gray Prince wishing for his death and the Champion almost begging not to fight. They were understandably displeased but no one could see their internal turmoil, nobody could see the unending shame and regret within Sarah’s heart.

Food started to be thrown at them, rotten tomatoes, eggs, they spat at them, they cursed their names. Gro-Malog seemed to think this is how he deserved to be treated for his ascendence, as scum, as a sorry creature, as a pariah and this only fueled his desire for his demise. Sarah, on the contrary, was unstadier with each second that stretched. Her hands and feet tingled from nervousness and her sword was almost escaping her grasp, she hadn't the strength to hold it anymore.

So she wouldn’t. She would flee. She would be spat at, she’d lose her position as Champion, she’d lose her source of income. But she’d get by, she’d adapt, she’d find another way. With that in mind, she looked at Gro with tears in her eyes and a frightened face, taking a step back.

“No Gro, I will n…”

At that, Agronak, tired of waiting for her to do what she came to do, grabbed her shaky hand and pulled it towards the weak spot in his armor, impaling himself in her sword.

Sarah could only watch in terror as blood began spilling from the mortal wound onto her sword and hand and gro-Malok curved into himself from the pain. Mouth agape, pale face, trembling hands and shallow breaths as The Gray Prince took his last breaths through a serene smile plastered in his face. Uttering a small “thank you”, he collapsed at her feet.

Sarah’s breathing and the whole crowd’s stilled altogether. No cheering, no booing, no screaming, no claps as everyone stared at Agronak’s lifeless body and tried to access what had transpired. The Champion was the first one snap out of the haze, as she kneeled and threw up in the middle of the battlefield. It had been to much, it’s all too much, the stress finally had caught to her and she retched beside the former Grands Champion’s corpse.

Everything became blurred after that. She remembered screaming and crying at the same time as the crowd booed her. She barely remembered being carried away from the battlefield by Owyn. She could only stare at the floor with unseeing, apathetic eyes as Ysabel Andronicus yelled at her for her cowardice and Hundolin complained how everyone would want the money from their bets back. Sarah didn’t have any strength left to cry, but the tears still fell from her sightless eyes. Later, Owyn tried to coax a response from her as to what had happened but got none.

Her unresponsive and passive exterior betrayed the blazing confusion that took place inside her mind and the unending abyss that had appeared where her heart should be. Past and present mixed together in front of her eyes, the room spun together with her mind in a spiral of self hatred and despair. Time was now a foreign concept to her and she couldn't know or care for how long she remained unmoving in the Bloodworks.

Eris’ grave, Gro’s body, her yellow ribbon, her mom’s kind and delicate smile in contrast with Luiza’s sardonic grin. Her hands and feet started tingling again and her breathing reverted to shallow and uneffective gulps of air.

She got up and without thinking, stepped outside the Bloodworks and into the streets of the Imperial City. It was late and the night was cool, no one could be seen, with exception of one or two beggars. Masser and Secunda danced around each other in their eternal movement and casted a soothing ethereal light upon her uninterested teary eyes.

Lucien’s visit, Aliena’s crying in fear, Gustav’s bruises and swollen eyes, Christine’s crying of hunger, Ariana’s hug and Ariana’s slaps that stung in her cheek. Her heart began pounding against her ribcage once again, she felt sick in her stomach and a wave of dizziness hit her body again, unsteadying her steps.

She made her way to the Imperial Prison. A gentle breeze swept through the City’s alleys, making the trees and bushes murmur. Voices could be heard coming from the houses as the the good people of the Imperial City that had gathered earlier in the Arena continued their lives normally, not sparring a second thought to the murder they had witnessed. Or the murderer. Or the murdered.

Eris’s teasing and laughter, her father’s gifts, Sarah’s hands dirty with her "father's" blood and Luiza’s horrified scream, Gro’s pleas again. Her hands trembled and her legs wobbled, she could hear a little buzz in her ear that mixed with the voices in her vivid memories that played incessantly and painfully.

Her mind spun, it was all her fault, she was responsible for it all, she was dangerous, she didn’t fit outside a cage, she didn’t fit with other people, she was incapable of not hurting others.

The new Grand Champion approached the first guard she encountered there.

No more.

“I want to turn myself in for my association with the Dark Brotherhood”.


	2. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin muses over the mysterious woman in his dreams and Sarah tries her best to make some sense of the strange day she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever felt the future is the past, but you don't know how?  
> A reflected dream of a captured time, is it really now, is it really happening?
> 
> Don't know why I feel this way, have I dreamt this time, this place?  
> Something vivid comes again into my mind  
> And I think I've seen your face, seen this room, been in this place  
> Something vivid comes again into my mind
> 
> Think I've heard your voice before, think I've said these words before  
> Something makes me feel I just might lose my mind  
> Am I still inside my dream? Is this a new reality  
> Something makes me feel that I have lost my mind"
> 
> Dream of Mirrors - Iron Maiden

The woman wearing rags sat quietly in a damp and dark cell. Where she was, he didn’t know. He also didn’t know her name, even though he had dreamed of this person for the past two decades. Her long copper hair was matted and greasy, as was her face, with dark spots of dirt dotting her light skin. She had her chin resting on her knees and one of her hands scratched idly the back of her neck. The colors of the tattoos covering both of her arms mixed with the dirt from the floor. Her nails were dirty underneath and the cuticles were torn, her lips, chapped and she had dark bags under her hazel eyes. She had a piercing in her septum and one in her bottom lip that gave her face a bit more of luminosity in such dim room. Though the present scene exhaled an air of decay, her eyes were bright and focused.

In the dream, a noise caught the mysterious woman’s attention: a figure emerged from the back of the cell across the hallway, a dark elf. The ginger walked cautiously to the bars of her compartment and listened to what the other prisoner had to say. Something startled both of them, prompting the woman to recoil in the darkest corner of her cell. Her hair fell to her face and she did her best to remain unmoving, as if willing to disappear in the shadows. A few moments later, her door was opened in a haste.

At that, Martin woke up from his dream. He laid on his back and stared at the well known ceiling of the chapel undercroft. He hadn’t dreamed about this woman in a long time, a year or more perhaps. The last time he dreamed of her, it had been agonizing to watch, she was crying while standing in a bloody battlefield. That night, Martin woke up in cold sweat, feeling a terrible sensation of despair, as if it had been him in that situation and the emotion lingered for the whole day that followed.

He never knew who this woman was, nor what was the context of the dreams, he was even sure he had never seen her in person. He only knew that he had been having this dreams with her in them since he was 15 years old. 

The dream itself had been really blurry and he couldn’t distinguish much the images that had appeared back in the day, even more now, 25 years later. He could only remember a baby girl laying in a crib surrounded by white sheets. At that time, Martin didn’t spare the dream much thought, he had more pressing matters to pay attention to than a dream with a random baby in it, like his father’s nagging or how Martin would do to be free from him and that farm.

Martin got up from the bed and went to the wash basin to splash his face with cold water and, hopefully, shake the strange feeling that followed whenever he dreamed of the woman. It felt like the dream had more to it than it showed and he couldn’t stop thinking about it during the day, it perturbed his thoughts and stole his attention from his day-to-day tasks. And it had been getting worse lately. Who was she? Why had she been plaguing his dreams for a long time now? Was she important? Had they met? Was she even a real person or someone from his imagination? He didn't know.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he grabbed his razor and began shaving. As he did so, he let his mind wander to the stranger again. He had uncountable different dreams through the years and remembered them as much as any other person, most faded and disappeared from his memory, but not these. He had been dreaming about this woman for over two decades and he remembered every single one of them, although the older ones were faded. The second happened when he was 21 years old. It had been a long and exciting night, he woke up with a hangover and his head pounding amongst several other people with whom he’d shared the emotions from last night. He remembered he had battled the pain in his head and tried to recall what happened in the dream. He could only distinguish a child with red hair and a yellow ribbon braided in it before the headache took the best of him. After that, years passed before he’d had another dream with her.

Before he could muse over the next dream, his mind was brought back to the present by a sting on his cheek. Martin sighed, in his lack of attention, he cut himself with the razor. It was for the best, he thought, no reason to lose time trying to figure this out, he had his duties to attend to. Changing into his grey robes, he made his way to the chapel hall. Clean the altar, water the plants and prepare his sermon, these were his concerns today, as they had been for the past 17 years.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah emerged from the sewers exit and stopped short as the sun shone directly at her face for the first time in over a year. She shielded her eyes but not quickly enough to prevent them from watering and stinging painfully. When she got used to the luminosity, she allowed herself to bask in its warm light and see the wonderful sight that greeted her. At the falling dusk, Lake Rumare reflected the orange fading sunlight and gave her the impression that its waters were, in fact, melted gold. The vegetation beyond the lake were tinged by the light as well and casted long comforting shadows on the ground and on the white columns of the Ayleid ruin beside it. 

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Sarah decided to take a bath in the lake and scrub off a year worth of dirt from her skin and hair. She took off her rags and entered the water, still grasping the Amulet of Kings tightly in her hand. Beneath the surface, she allowed herself to enjoy the foreign silence of underwater, willing for her mind to be as quiet as it. She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her disconnected thoughts. She tried concentrating on the weightless feeling of her body floating, or on how her copper locks looked in contrast with the deep blue, or even on the bubbles she let out from her mouth. It was no use, the Amulet of Kings still felt too heavy in her hand and she knew it would not let her forget about it. Emerging, she thought about everything that happened.

As her mind turned its attention to the events of that day, the scene before her didn’t appear as beautiful and calm as before and the feeling of unease returned, not even water could wash it away, she thought bitterly.

The Emperor in person freed her because he had dreamed of her. Apparently she was destined to be a hero or someone important. She scoffed at the thought, this had to be a sick joke. There was a reason for her to be in prison and it was because she was not a good or honorable person, she was not hero material. She was murderer material at best. And even after she failed to protect him from the assassins, he still trusted her with the most valuable relic of the Empire and the knowledge of the existence of his secret son. This truly was a prank from the Gods, it had to be, she’d feel better if it was.  


Prank or not, that didn’t change the fact that she had the Amulet of Kings in her hands and there were some batshit crazy individuals wanting it and they were determined to kill ANYONE who got in the way. It would be best if she got rid of it as soon as possible and she’d do it by delivering the Amulet to this guy Jauffre. And she still had to figure how she’d contact her family. Definitely now the sight of the lake in front of her wouldn’t appease her mind anymore.

She got out of the water and dressed in her dirty, stinky and sticky rags. But before anything else, she’d go to her shack to gather her equipment and some clean clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is welcome!! I want to hear your opinion, guys!!
> 
> Oh, I skipped the beggining of the main quest in the Imperial Prison and the sewers because everybody knows how it goes and I think it adds little to the story, so I skipped it.


	3. Sweet Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah finally goes to Weynon Priory and, to her disappointment, discovers that her part in this whole ordeal is not over yet. 
> 
> Also, mentions of recreative drugs, beware. Sarah has some issues and some unhealthy coping mecanisms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My life was empty, forever on a down  
> Until you took me, showed me around  
> My life is free now, my life is clear  
> I love you sweet leaf, though you can't hear, oh yeah"
> 
> Sweet Leaf - Black Sabbath

It was almost a good thing that the whole Royal Family was assassinated in the same day she escaped, she thought sardonically. The entirety of the guards and the Imperial Legion as well as the majority of the peasants were too worried about it to pay attention to a greasy woman walking in the Waterfront District at night. She even could pass for a beggar since the public of the Arena, hopefully, had already forgotten her face. Sarah doubted they’d even known it in the first place, they had come to see her bash some skulls, not to get to known her. It was for the best anyway, no expectations to fulfil. Except maybe, the Emperor’s. 

What did he mean? How could he expect anything from someone he had never met? What he meant with “jaws of Oblivion”? What if those assassins were after her? What if they were waiting for her at home? What if…? No, no. Deep breaths, deep breaths, one thing at the time.

The night was cool, much like the one when she turned herself in was. The gentle breeze blew pass her wet clothes, providing a refreshing feeling on her skin and causing chills to erupt from it. The waters reflected the light coming from Masser and Secunda and the stars, casting a ethereal luminosity on the shore and the hulls. The ships were obscured by the cover of the night and only the light coming from torches and candles on the decks could be made out in the dark, giving the impression the lake was crammed by fireflies above the water. The murmur of the wind mixed with the waters and the hushed whispers coming from the taverns and houses, creating a serene melody, although uneasy, given the events of the day.

Although the nights were similar, her state of mind couldn’t be more different from that day. Incredibly enough, a year locked up in a prison brought a foreign feeling of clearness in her mind, or so she hoped. Sarah knew what she wanted to do and the only obstacle was this heavy and oppressive Amulet in her pocket she still had to deliver.

Reaching her shack, Sarah let out a sigh of relief: it hadn’t been sacked. Entering, she hastily grabbed everything she needed: a bit of gold, her canteen, her drawing notebook, her smoking pipe, a bit of weed, which she vowed she’d only use when absolutely necessary. Then, she changed into her pants, an undershirt, her boots and downed her armor. The faster she delivered this Amulet, the faster she’d be out of danger and free from this task she didn’t ask for. 

Lastly, Sarah grabbed her yellow ribbon with white daisies in it. It was a bit dirty but other than that, intact. She pulled her hair up and with a strip of leather, secured it in place in a bun. Holding her ribbon almost reverently, she began wrapping it around her red hair. Without her consent, her mind wandered again.

How were her siblings? In her last letter, Ariana said they were fine...Gustav had opened his bakery with André, Aliena had been accepted in the Mages’s Guild of Anvil and Christine was helping at home. Surely they were getting by, right? She didn’t mention anything about hunger or disease or anything, right? Or maybe she did..did she? Sarah hadn't sent any money since she was arrested. What if they didn’t have food? What if one of them was sick and Ariana didn’t mention to not worry her? What if…? Sarah’s breathing began to quicken, her heart began pounding against her chest.

They were her responsibility and she failed at it again! No, Ariana said everything was fine, so why doubt it? Maybe she lied because she knew Sarah wouldn’t be able to do anything to help from prison? She knew she should have sent more money, maybe their savings hadn’t been enough! She began feeling that tingly feeling in her hands. Oh Gods! Not again!

This was one of those “absolutely necessary” moments, right? Right? Sarah grabbed her smoking pipe when her hands began shaking and stuffed some of the weed in it and lighted it. Inhaling deeply, she let the feeling of smoke fill her senses and willed her mind to just stop already. Exhaling all the smoke, she tried imagining all of her toxic thoughts leaving her body together with it. She repeated the process a couple of times more and after some minutes, her shaking ceased and her breathing was controlled. 

Crouched in the middle of her living room, she let out a scoff together with a puff of smoke, so much for that clearness of mind.

After some more puffs of smoke, she felt dirtier but calmer, nonetheless. Getting up, she grabbed her twin swords, her shield, her bow and a quiver and left her shack, locking it behind her. She just wanted to deliver this damned amulet and be done with it.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
The journey to Chorrol was uneventful, thank the Gods. Aside from some wolves and some bandits, everything was calm. It was a good thing she was attacked, Sarah got to train a bit her rusted fighting abilities. A bandit managed to sneak up on her and grab her from behind and she remembered she could break his nose throwing the back of her head against his face. While fighting with another bandit with a sword, she was happy to see she still had the ability to identify an opening in the enemy’s defense and take advantage of it. And her hand-to-hand combat wasn’t so bad either, although her adversary managed to lay a pretty hard blow on her cheek. Her lips that were already chapped had now red dots, her teeth were tinted red and her cheekbone was a bit swollen and purple but, if anything, this made her look cooler. Plus, she got her revenge by smashing his skull against a rock. And it felt good. 

Maybe she was a hypocrite, Sarah thought while inhaling another round of weed to dull the pain: she called the good people of the Imperial City sadists because they liked to see unknown people tear each other apart while they sat safely and drank wine, but SHE too liked delivering this show. She liked to fight and she made a profit from it. Maybe she was even worse than the public. 

No, she sure was worse, she thought bitterly.

Her train of thought was cut short as Weynon Priory came into view. Under the light of Masser and Secunda and without anyone around, this place looked coozy. The main house dominated the view and the chapel to right made for a lovely addition. She just hoped the people here were still awake.

Knocking on the main house door, Sarah was answered by a breton in black robes. He eyed her from top to bottom as if accessing if she was a threat or not. Deciding she was not, he introduced himself and the place.

“Good night, traveler! Welcome to Weynon Priory, a monastic retreat dedicated to Talos and the Nine Divines. I'm Prior Maborel, head of our community, and responsible for all our religious and secular affairs” he said politely.

“Goodnight, Prior Maborel” said Sarah while bowing her head a little, “I’m sorry to disturb you so late at night, but I have pressing matters to discuss with Brother Jauffre, is he here?”

“Brother Jauffre? He is upstairs, reading probably. What is this about?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’d like to keep this in private, if possible, Prior.” Sarah could tell the truth, but she didn’t know if this man was trustworthy, she didn’t even know if he knew about Jauffre’s association with the Brades.

“Of course, please come in.” Prior Maborel resigned with his eyes cast down and stepped aside to let her in.

Going upstairs, Sarah saw a man sitting on the far end of the room with his back to one of the great windows decorating the facade of the main house. Acknowledging her presence, the man put the book down and followed her steps towards him with his eyes, observing her gestures and accessing her mannerisms, in search of any indicative that she was a threat.  
The man wore a worn down brown robe, he was a breton, just like Prior Maborel and he was bald on the top, with greying hair on the sides of his head.

Before Sarah even opened her mouth to say anything, the man stood up and said in a tight voice “I’m Brother Jauffre, what do you want?”. Sarah stopped short, caught off guard by his bluntness, opened and closed her mouth and furrowed brows. Deciding that the formalities were overrated with this Jaufrre, she simply pulled the Amulet of Kings from her pocket and put it carefully on the top of the table, in front of him. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, she said calmly “I have the Amulet of Kings”.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
After the initial shock of having a complete stranger deliver the Amulet of Kings and claim she was there when the Emperor died, Jauffre explained everything she needed to know for yet another mission she didn’t ask for. And she was determined to make him see her point.

“Jauffre, my mission was to bring this trinket for you and I DID IT, why can’t you send one of your incredible Blades for the task to rescue this priest?”, Sarah emphasized her words by clapping her hands together while leaning towards Jauffre, desperate to make him see she didn’t want anything to do with it.

“To send a letter and assemble the Blades would take too much time, a time I fear we do not possess. Besides, you are unknown, if our enemy is already looking for Martin, they wouldn’t think to follow you. You have to do it, leave right away.” he responded unamused by her pleas, face dead serious.

Sarah sighed once more and rubbed the bridge of her nose, clenching her jaw. There was no swaying him from his decision, apparently. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her fists and looked Jauffre in the eyes irately, saying slowly “ I’ll do it. In exchange, I want you to send a letter to Anvil for me.” to which he agreed.

If what he said was right and she could be followed or targeted for her involvement in this mission, sending a letter to her family could put them in danger. While Jauffre gathered some supplies for her journey and talked to Prior Maborel about lending her his horse, she grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote:

Qrnerfg Nevnan, Thfgni, Nyvran naq Puevfgvar,

V nz jevgvat gb fnl V nz bhg bs gur cevfba, ohg hasbeghangryl V pnaabg erghea ubzr whfg lrg. Qb abg jbeel. V qvq abg rknpgyl rfpncr naq V nz abg n jnagrq pevzvany, V fjrne! V whfg unir gb gnxr pner bs fbzr ohffvarff, ohg V ubcr jr jvyy or erhavgrq fbba!

V ybir lbh nny,

Fnenu

Sealing the letter, Sarah adressed it to Benirus Manor, in Anvil. By the time she was finished, Jauffre had already arranged all she needed to begin her journey to Kvatch. Doing her best to not let her irritation show to Prior Maborel, she thanked him for the horse and Brother Jauffre, for the supplies. After saying goodbye, she began making her way to find this Brother Martin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey guys! I hope you like it! Please, leave your opinions and critics in the comments. I don't know if I am doing a good job conveying Sarah's personality, but anyway, I want to know from you. Also, I tried using italics to differentiate between the narrator and her thoughts, but I don't know how to use HTML, so I couldn't.


	4. Preach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin does his best to save the lives of so many while he himself questions his faith and purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It makes no sense but it must right  
> The blood and sweat you sacrificed  
> Was it all for nothing  
> 'Cause you found no sign and see no light  
> We hear no voice when we pray at night  
> But we swore and now it's too late to turn back"
> 
> Blasphemy - Bring Me The Horizon

It all happened too fast. It all happened too fast and even hours after the first and heaviest strike, Martin was still having a hard time wrapping his head around what he had witnessed. The red from the wounds he tried to heal mixed with the carmine he still saw so clearly behind his eyelids every time the blinked. The chapel echoed with the moans and grunts from the wounded and it reverberated with the screams he could still hear in his memories, creating a hellish symphony that seemed to come from inside his head. 

He had heard the screams from the buried alive beneath their houses; had seen parents shielding their children from Daedra with their own bodies; had seen those monstrosities feasting on people’s organs with them still alive; had seen the faithful throw their arms to the air in a desperate attempt to coax a response from the Gods, before they were slayed. 

He had had only the time to gather some survivors and lead them to the Chapel. Inside, the nightmare was different but equally paralyzing . He had to improvise tourniquets using belts and socks; had to stop bleedings by using his fingers to close the severed artery; had to amputate limbs using a dagger; had to console children who had seen their parents’ life slowly fading from them, and vice-versa. How could he be such a liar to the point of saying they were with the Gods now, when clearly they had been abandoned? This situation was the ultimate evidence.

Martin sat quietly in one of the vacant seats and buried his head in his hands then immediately straightened up. The smell caught him off guard: his hands were dirty from the blood of the countless wounded he had healed but he couldn’t afford the luxury to wash his hands, their supply was limited. Staring at his hands, his mind wandered dangerously close to that night so many years before: the screams, the unrestrained violence, the smell, the innocents and his hands dirty from the blood of others. They were all the same.

This train of thought was fortunately interrupted by a feminine voice that spoke to his right. Martin braced himself for the string of lies he inevitably would be forced to tell to comfort the hurting and desperate. 

However, his stomach dropped at the sight of Marianne and a few others getting ready to leave the Chapel. Marianne was an assiduous listener of his sermons, always seeking solace in the Gods’ wisdom for the premature death of her husband, she often required his undivided attention after his speeches, for advice on how to turn her pain into something positive and productive or for confess how she blamed the Gods for her loss. Martin always insisted that grieving was an important step of healing and that, even though it could hurt terribly, ignoring this could bring worse consequences in the future. As for the other matter, he always advised that, although it can be tempting to blame the Gods for our mundane sufferings, one should always keep in mind that they were watching over all the beings and they always have a plan for every single person. What a hypocrite bastard he was.

“Brother Martin, we are leaving. We thank you for keeping us safe until now, but we cannot stay here indeterminately.” she said, eyeing Martin with a determined look.

He immediately got up and tried to hide how his legs wobbled from exhaustion. Giving Marianne a pleading look, he said “Marianne please listen, all of you, I know the situation is dire but we must not despair, this is only temporary, we won’t be trapped here forever. Please, please, stay!”. His voice was worned out, from praying incessantly, from shouting orders to others, from repeating the same artificial mantra to those who sought his wisdom, he didn't know. 

“How can you know? Who is going to save us? We are alone!” Marianne shouted back, gesturing around with her arms, to emphasize her point.

“Maybe word has reached the other cities and they are sending reinforcements, maybe even some from the Legion! It does not matter! It is imperative that we remain here!” his voice trembled from fatigue and irritation. 

Marianne let out a mocking laugh at this. “The Legion? The Legion couldn’t even keep the Emperor alive! Do you think they even know we exist?”. Their exchange caught the attention of all in the Chapel. Some agreed with leaving, some shook their heads in disapproval.

“Still-” Martin began, becoming desperate, but was cut short by Marianne “Is this how the Gods look after us, Brother? If what you say is true, then my fate is already sealed should I decide to stay or leave! Is this the Gods’ plan for me? They created me so I could die here?”

Martin then stopped, his arms that were extended in a conciliating gesture hanged idly now on either side of his torso. The blood drained from his face and he could only stare reactionless as Marianne and the rest of the group turned their backs on him and made for the doors of the Chapel. He snapped out of it and began running to reach them but it was already too late, as soon as they closed the doors behind them, the sounds of inhuman screechings, screams and flesh being torn could be heard outside. And then, silence.

Brother Martin reclined against the wall beside the doors and slumped to the floor, putting his head in his hands, not caring about the smell. Marianne had been right, how could he argue with her if he himself was doubting his beliefs? How could he repeat what he had said so many times if now it clearly was not true? How could he make them believe in the Gods’ kindness and mercy if they saw the contradiction on front of their eyes? 

He didn’t know for how long he stayed there, reclining against the wall and feeling sick to his stomach because of the smell in his hands. Time was almost non-existent there, the sky never changed from its disgustingly foreign red, it was impossible to know if it was day or night or how long had passed since the first attack. People talked less and less, until one point that no human noise could be heard inside or outside, only the grunts of those demons. Oletta also came to sit beside Martin, placing a hand on his shoulders, in a comforting gesture, although none of them spoke.

The pictures of the Gods in the colorful windows, that now were colored red, looked down at them in a mocking and sarcastic silent stare and Martin couldn’t stand looking at them anymore. So he closed his eyes. They only snapped open when someone shouted “The skies! They are not red! It’s raining! The skies are not red anymore!”

Everyone in the Chapel got up hastily and waited in tense silence for any sign of life outside. Martin held his breath, as did everyone else. It started low but the sound of battle cries and steel hitting against skin was undoubtedly there, and it was becoming increasingly louder as it came closer to the Chapel. Suddenly, loud bangs in the door could be heard outside. “It’s Savlian Matius! Open the door! We have people wounded here!”

Tierra shakingly grabbed the knob and pulled it open and immediately a few soldiers, including Matius entered the Chapel. The survivors inside began cheering and crying of joy and relief, hugging each other. Martin sighed relieved as Oletta clapped him on the shoulders and went to assist the wounded. 

One of them carried a woman that Martin didn’t recognize.

Approaching the soldier who carried her, he asked “Who is she? Is she gravely injured?”

“We don’t know, she just showed at the encampment and proceeded to march towards the gate. She closed it all by herself and helped us regain the plaza, but collapsed just before we entered.”, answered the solder, clearly out of breath and eager to let go of his burden.

Martin indicated a vacant bedroll, kneeled and began rolling his sleeves up while the soldier laid the woman in it. As soon as he took a good look at her face, his eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks. It was her. The woman. The woman he dreamed about for years. It was her.

Her hair was different, the right half of it barely reached her shoulders, while the left was the length he remembered from his dreams. It had been clearly cut in a haste. But it was her. The color was the same, the tattoos that covered her arms were the same, her features were the same, except from the fresh angry bloody gash on her left cheek and the soot covering every inch of her face. The septum and lips piercings were also the same. She even carried the yellow ribbon with white daisies wrapped around her left wrist. He would have stayed staring at her for much longer in shock, if she hadn't let out a suffered whine.

She was covered in painful burns on her arms, some of them would surely leave scars, her face was bruised, blood flowed from her nose and her teeth were tinged red. He could see blood coming out from a wound in her torso and in her leg and she sure was heavily dehydrated. Her breathing was uneven and forced, as if it hurt to inhale and he could see how her eyes were moving behind her eyelids, she was dreaming. Martin willed his mind to stop pondering over the significance of her presence here and got to work, he had much to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this one :) I hope you do too! Please, leave your opinions and criticism in the comments!


	5. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah arrives at Kvatch and discovers that each mission she's burdened with seems to be worse than the previous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "[...] What a relief it would be to end this all,  
> How easy to fly the white flag and give up,  
> But would I run today just to die another day,  
> Give up now and every fight has been in vain,
> 
> Stand up and fight,  
> Stand up and look into the light,  
> Pushing the clouds away  
> Stand up and fight,  
> Stand up and see the sky turn bright,  
> Fight for a better day
> 
> Get up  
> You've made it this far  
> No loser you are  
> One more time  
> One more try  
> The pouring rain,  
> Sticks my hair to my face,
> 
> Stand up and fight,  
> Stand up and look into the light,  
> Pushing the clouds away  
> Stand up and fight,  
> Stand up and see the sky turn bright,  
> Fight for a better day [...]"
> 
> Stand Up And Fight - Turisas

Prior Maborel’s horse was really well-behaved. The Prior hadn’t tell her his name, so Sarah just decided to call him Schaum, because of the small path of white fur on his back. He stood still and allowed her to mount him without complaining or being skittish. Even when they stopped for a small pause to rest along the way, he accepted the apple she offered and let her pet his mane quietly. So when he started to act uneasy and frightened as they approached Kvatch, Sarah imagined something was off, she just didn’t know what.

She dismounted, bringing the reins in front of his snout and looked around. It was still morning, though the sun had already peaked above the horizon a few hours ago, being quickly blocked by heavy and gloomy storm clouds that didn’t take long to fall apart into a dense rain. In a few seconds, Sarah was soaked to her bones and her mood was one of the sourest she ever remembered it being. Narrowing her eyes to try to see passed the rain and sharpening her hearing, she tried to notice anything that could have caused such a behavior from Schaum. 

Nothing caught her attention, however. It could have been a lightning or thunder but she hadn’t seen or heard any. And still Schaum was pulling on the reins, his ears were completely turned backwards and he had his tail between his legs, he exhaled forcefully, letting out big puffs of steam from his nostrils. She wouldn’t be able to come any closer to the city with Schaum acting like this and she couldn’t just leave him standing here in the middle of nowhere.

Bringing her face closer to his snout, she did her best calm him down. Petting his mane, neck and head, she tried murmuring some kind words as gently as she could above the thundering of the rain. Thankfully, Schaum calmed down a bit and let himself be led leisurely with Sarah opening the way in front of him, although sometimes he’d still show some signals of uneasiness. Which, in turn, made Sarah uneasier.

They came across a small encampment, a few meters downhill from where the entrance to Kvatch was. Sarah stopped and took everything in. There were just a few commoners and priests here, all worn down, some sustaining bandaged wounds, others laying down inside improvised tents. All of them carried haunted looks to their faces, some cried, some comforted others, some just stared astonished at nothing in particular. Their clothes were all invariably torn, with spots of blood, marks of burning, dusty and dirty. 

Her musing was interrupted by a frantic voice that came running from the encampment towards her, “Come on! Run while there's still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!” Snapping out of it, she moved just in time to grab the altmer by his shoulders.

“What is happening?”, she demanded authoritatively, but the altmer didn’t speak, just gave her a petrified stare. “Answer me!”, Sarah shouted while shaking the mer by his shoulders. He was taller than her but he felt like a sack of potatoes in her grasp. Recovering from whatever he was seeing in his mind, it was his turn to grab her shoulders in a bruising hold while yelling at her face "Gods' blood, you don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature... something out of a nightmare... came right over the walls... blasting fire. They swarmed around it... killing..."

Sarah turned her wide eyes to the top of the hill, mumbling “oh no” and, yanking her arms free from the altmer’s hold, made for the encampment in hurried steps. She quickly tied Schaum’s reins to a tent pole and started running as fast as she could up the hill, ignoring the warnings and calls from the refugees for her to stop. The road was slippery because of the rain and her worn down boots didn’t adhere very well to it, making her lose her footing every now and then.

Through the rain she could discern a silhouette on the road. Approaching the figure, she could see it was a man wearing priest’s robes and she allowed herself to feel a little hope, maybe, just maybe, this man could be Martin. Narrowing her eyes to protect then from the water droplets, she spoke just loud enough to be heard above the raging storm, “Excuse me! Are you Brother Martin?”

The man then turned, his eyes were brown and he was bald on the top of his head, the hair that covered the rest of his head was stark white, which contrasted with his olive dark skin. Sarah also noticed he was an imperial and it gave her just a little more hope, until she saw the look in his eyes. He had this catatonic and glassy expression on his face and his voice came out just above a whisper, devoid of any emotion “Hope is gone. The Imperial line is dead. The Covenant is broken. The Enemy has won…”

Sarah set her mouth in a thin line, she just needed one information, she didn’t want to know about broken covenants or how they were all doomed. Still trying to reason with the broken man, she forced her voice to remain calm and contained, “Yes, I understand, but are you Brother Martin?”, she almost wished he wasn’t. 

The man, still gazing at her with fear-stricken eyes, added in the same dead tone “The Imperial line is dead, and the gods have forsaken us. Where is our blessing? Where is our protection? Where are our gods? The Enemy triumphs, and we die alone.”. Rolling her eyes and puffing loudly, she grabbed the imperial’s shoulders and shook them a little to see if she could snap the man out of his delirious state, “Fine! I know all of this! Just answer-”

"Why have our gods forsaken us!?", the man shouted abruptly and it was Sarah’s turn to widen her eyes and take a step back at the sudden outburst. She let go of the man and kept going uphill hurriedly as the delusional priest continued to shout the same sentence over and over again. 

She just wanted to get this done and return home, it was all she wanted. How difficult could this be? Why did she have to do it in the first place? Because a cachectic man dreamed of her? This was utterly ridiculous. She was cold, soaked to her bones, her family might be in danger because of this senseless quest and for what? To find some priest that only existed because Uriel Septim couldn’t keep it in his pants. What stopped her from just leaving him and going to Anvil?

She kept stomping angrily towards the city, nonetheless 

Her fit of anger was stopped all of sudden, together with her steps and her breathing. The chilly shiver that ran up her spine stopped at the base of her neck and it stayed there, spreading the sensation of cold and dread to all of her body. Sarah’s eyes widened and lifted to look at the skies that displayed, instead of the gloomy weather, an angry red. Looking to her left, she saw a foreign structure she never saw before, blocking the entrance to the city.

As if they were rooted on the ground, two enormous spikes with sharp and brittle edges rose above earth towards the menacing sky. Between them, a thing that could only be described as a bleeding wound of fire dominated the space. Closer to the borders, the thing emitted a blinding white and yellow light and its shape reminded Sarah of the scab of a laceration that hasn't healed yet. From the center, the thing radiated waves of blazing heat and an unnameable fear, showing a realm of pure malevolence beyond.

Sarah was brought back to her reality when she heard battle cries a few meters ahead. Some guards were fighting off some creatures, monsters. Shaking her head to dissipate this alarming feeling, she unsheated her twin swords and stepped into action. These creatures weren’t so big, they probably reached her hips at most, they walked on two legs, had ears that looked like overgrown elven ones and they stank a lot. 

Taking advantage that the first one had its back turned to her, Sarah ran towards it, with the sound of thunder masquerading the noise of her footsteps. Before it could turn around, she stomped it with her foot and buried one of her swords in its skull. The man in front of her looked at her in surprise but before he could ask any question, they were startled by a fireball that nearly hit them both. There were three more of these creatures and two more men fighting, this wouldn’t take long. The creature that shot them before targeted her and began firing fireballs, Sarah did her best to dodge them as the other guard advanced from behind and dispatched it. 

In less than a minute, this wave of little creatures was dealt with. Slightly out of breath, Sarah approached the man that looked like the leader of the group and was greeted by a blunt “This is no place for you. Get back to the encampment at once!”.

“Captain, what happened here?”, she swallowed tightly to suffocate the dread she felt by looking at the structure more closely.

“We lost the damned city, that's what happened! It was too much, too fast. We were overwhelmed. Couldn't even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there. Some made it into the Chapel, but others were just run down in the streets!” he almost spat the answer at her face, visibly and understably enraged. 

“Do you know if Martin is still alive?”, she hoped she didn’t sound apathetic at his suffering, but she really just came all the way for one person and she didn’t have the energy to care about any other details that didn’t help in her current mission.

“You mean the priest? Last I saw him, he was leading a group towards the Chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, he's trapped in there with the rest of them, at least safe for the moment-”

“Fine, I want to help.”, she cut him mid sentence, trying to look braver than she felt.

“You want to help? You're kidding, right? Hmm... if you're serious, maybe I can put you to use. It'll likely mean your death, though. Are you sure?" which Sarah confirmed.

The Captain then looked thoughtfully to the enormous and hellish structure and explained “I don't know how to close this Gate, but it must be possible, because the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack. You can see the marks on the ground where they were, with the Great Gate right in the middle. I sent men into the Gate, to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven't come back. If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they're alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own. The best I can say is, good luck. If you make it back alive, we'll be waiting for you.”

Sarah waved comprehensively with her head and walked to stand directly in front of the Gate. So that’s what the Emperor was referring to when he mentioned the jaws of Oblivion, huh? She widened her arms a bit and pointed her swords forward, leaning forward and assuming a fighting stance, eyes focused at the fiery gash, although her chin trembled in anticipation and fear.

“Young lady, what do you think you are doing?”, her mother’s kind voice assaulted her thoughts, followed by Luiza’s poisonous hiss “Stupid child! Should I try to open your skull and put a bit of sense in you?”. 

Sarah closed her eyes. Sweat gathered in her hairline because of the heat, even the water that had soaked her clothes earlier had already evaporated. However, the radiation coming from the gate made her feel gelid. The air surrounding it was so hot she felt as if she was suffocating or not breathing at all, her lungs burned and her eyes watered because of the strong smell of sulphur. The unspeakable violence and wickedness she felt emanating from glowing portal made her hands tremble and that spot behind her neck, where she first felt it, burn intensively. She furrowed her brows as the droplets of sweat ran passed them and prepared to regret this decision.

Opening her eyes, she sprinted towards the portal. With each step, she increased her speed. If she slowed just a bit, she’d lose her nerve.

Why was she doing this? She had no ties with the Emperor, or Jaufrre, or Martin. She had no clear reason to risk her life for this mission. She had people back at home who needed her alive, she had people back at home that she loved. Why was she doing this? Why was she putting so much effort into this? Why?

"Because you are tired of leaving things unfinished."

But this was not Sarah’s voice in her mind. It was Eris'.

She entered the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy it! I thought about describing her first journey to Oblivion, but I thought it would get too long and boring. I tried to convey how horrible it feels inside an oblivion gate by describing how she felt just by standing near one and I don't know if it was effective, what do you think?
> 
> I tried looking for the name of Prior Maborel's horse but I didn't find. So I just picked one: Schaum means foam in german. I hc that nord people, although they speak the common language in Tamriel, have also their native language. It could be any germanic language but I chose german because I'm more familiar with it.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!


	6. The Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah finally meets the person she was supposed to rescue. She didn't know what to expect for this meeting but definetely, it was not this.
> 
> A huge thank you to intyaliel on Tumblr, for reading the chapter beforehand and offering some really good advice, to fruitywinner for gifting me that marvelous comission of Sarah and to lich-loved for drawing her so beautifully!!! Thank you so so much <3 I tried posting the comission together with Chapter 1 but it didn't work :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Children, don't do  
> What I have done  
> I couldn't walk  
> And I tried to run  
> So  
> I just got to tell you  
> Goodbye  
> Goodbye"
> 
> Mother - John Lennon

The day in Skyrim was clear and pleasant. The sun was shining bright, casting its warm light upon the valleys and mountains of Haafingar. A slow, crisp breeze blew, relieving a bit the heat of the sun and, along with it, creating a balanced weather. High up in the sky, the wind blew stronger, carrying elongated white clouds that reflected the luminosity. On the ground, the green grass was just recovering from the cold of last winter, shyly peeking above the ground, swaying gently with the flurry of the air and the pines liberated a fresh and light smell.

Everything looked perfect and peaceful, except for Sarah’s swollen bruised left cheek. 

“Whatever were you climbing that tree for, young lady?”, asked her mother while lightly cleaning the place and putting some ice on it to diminish the swelling. 

Sarah was sitting on a chair, her feet dangling idly from it and looking directly at Eris, who was giving her a mischievous smile from where she sat on the floor. Her light brown hair was as matted as Sarah’s and also had a few leaves sticking to it but at least she hadn’t fallen face down on the floor. Her mother was crouched in front of her, her kind, light green eyes attentive and red hair pulled back in a braid. Sarah got her hair color from her mother, although it was a few shades darker, probably because of her father's dark brown.

“Eris insisted on competing with me over who could climb higher on that tree in the garden, Mama! It was not my fault!”, said Sarah with pleading teary eyes, from the stinging on her cheek and to appeal to her mother’s soft side.

“Only because you said you could climb higher than me!”, shouted Eris from where she sat, an outraged expression forming on her face.

“Of course I can, I am older, silly!”

“You were born on the same day, silly.”, Ariana spoke from the table, where she was peeling some potatoes for dinner.

“No, I’m 10 seconds older, remember? Mama told us!”, to which Eris responded by sticking her tongue out, which prompted Sarah to do the same, despite her swollen and painful cheek.

“Enough, both of you. Who wants to help me cut some carro….”  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

The memory faded in an echo and Sarah was left in the dark, her body floating immersed in a vastness of pure nothing. Nothing at her back, nothing in front of her, no touch, no taste, no sound, no smell, no sight. This emptiness wrapped its arms around her mind and she imagined she was adrift underwater, in the Sea of Ghosts. No ship or person in her sight, she wished she could sink further into the sea. Nothing but the lingering feeling of nostalgia in her beating heart.

Yes...her beating heart. She could feel it moving calmly against her ribcage now. She could also feel a somewhat hard yet soft surface pressing against her back. Instead of dwindling and vanishing as she sunk further in, the light at the surface of the water began to shine brighter.

A rough type of fabric scraped against her abdomen and her right leg. Where the rough fabric touched her skin, there was a painful burning sting and she felt the same pain on her left cheek. The luminosity of the surface was calling Sarah towards it, pulling her mind from the comforting and cold desolation she’d found herself in before.

In her mouth, she could discern the bitter and unpleasant aftertaste of a healing potion and maybe a bit of blood. The thirst that overwhelmed her throat and mouth was excruciating, as if there wasn’t a droplet of water left in her body, Sarah felt almost dry inside. The smell of something fresh near her left cheek and of baked potatoes and carrots, as well as of burned wood reached her nostrils, bringing together with it the sound of quiet voices and the crackling of fire.

These sensations assaulted her body all of a sudden, as her mind emerged completely from underwater. She didn’t feel as weightless as before. In fact, she now felt far heavier than she should be. Her limbs seemed to sink further into the surface they were laid on when she tried to move and the pain in her abdomen seemed to press Sarah further down.The aching went all the way from the surface of her skin to underneath her bones. She had to open her eyes, what was happening?

Forcing her eyelids to open, despite the growing tiredness she felt, she was greeted by a face she didn’t know. The round face of a small girl, she couldn’t have been more than 8 years old. Her eyes were round and wide, they were of a deep and warm brown color, although they were a bit red and puffy. Her skin was of a olive tone, with some shallow cuts and dirt on it, and her hair was blonde. The girl stared down attentively at Sarah and Sarah, in turn, stared back furrowing her brows. Who was she?

Suddenly, the girl got up and ran out from the tent they were in, yelling in a high-pitched voice, “Uncle Martin! Uncle Martin! She’s awake!”

Martin...Martin, yes. This was the person she came for. So he was alive and all she had done wasn’t in vain. Sarah sighed in relief and pain.

Looking around, she laid on her back inside a small tent. Judging by the luminosity she could see beyond the thin, worn down fabric above her, it was daytime but the thundering of the rain earlier was gone. The sunlight that filtered through the tent provided a bit of warmth to her tired body and a light breeze could be heard outside, shaking the leaves of the vegetation nearby. Her gear and weapons were laid near the corner, together with a bucket full of water. She was at the encampment from earlier.

A few seconds later, a figure entered and Sarah couldn’t help but stare as he kneeled beside her bedroll. So this was him. 

Martin couldn’t be more than 40 years old, his features showed that much, but his expression told otherwise: he didn’t look old, he looked sunken. The bags under his eyes looked deep and the lines on his face looked like they had been hammered on him. His warm brown hair that reached his shoulders was disheveled and dirty with soot, he had some cuts and bruises on his olive toned skin, his grey robe was torn in some places and covered entirely in dirt.

But what struck Sarah the most was the look in his eyes. They were the color of the blue sky outside, like the Emperor’s were. However, the expression they bore made them almost discolour to a grey tone. The sadness and the sorrow flooded his tired eyes, giving her an idea of the tormenting things he must have seen in the attack. All these emotions were yet hidden behind a curtain of professionalism and authority he displayed. If Sarah had had any doubts that this man was the heir to throne, they had been dissipated by his eyes and the aura he carried around himself.

“How do you feel?”, he asked, putting a bowl and a water jug on the floor. His voice was deep and rich, albeit a bit hoarse. Even more than that, his voice felt warm somehow, almost cozy.

“I-”, Sarah tried summoning her voice that was lost somewhere inside her throat, but it was so dry and raspy that she could only utter a word before she was committed by a fit of dry and deep coughs. The strength she put into the coughs made the wound in her abdomen shoot a blinding pain through her body which, in turn, made Sarah grasp her middle section and try to stifle the coughing. 

Martin wasted no time, removing her hand from her abdomen and pulling the hem of her undershirt up, he quickly cast a healing spell on her wound and on her throat to try and relieve the discomfort there. The energy washed over her body like cool water, dulling the pain and the sensation that the walls of her throat were made of dry wood. 

His hands felt warm and calming, much like his voice. After calming down, she watched him with interest when he gave her a humourless apologetic small smile and poured a glass of water.

Still feeling as if her limbs weighed at the least the double of what they should weigh, Sarah concentrated all the strength she had on her arms, pushing her torso up on her elbows and accepting his offer. Her arm still shook a little from exhaustion but she downed the glass in a gulp and asked for more. After three glasses of water, she felt more apt to talk.

“Do you feel pain or discomfort anywhere else?”, he asked in a concerned and low voice, putting his right hand on her forehead, to check on her temperature, while his left thumb pulled the skin under her eyes down, to check the color and her pupils. He leaned down a bit while doing so and Sarah could catch a better glimpse at his eyes. The tormented look was still present but there were also intelligence and gentleness there, eclipsed by the sadness. That much was even more evidenced by the dexterity and carefulness with which he examined her.

“Yes, my whole existence” would have been an honest answer, but then she’d have to explain why, and right know she still had to let out the news that his whole life was a lie. So she opted for an obvious question to start the topic. 

“Are you Brother Martin?”, she cringed at her own voice, it was hoarser than the usual, low and grave and she was sure she wouldn’t pass much confidence to Martin this way.

Martin nodded, removing his hands from her face and proceeding to attentively mix whatever was in the bowl he brought. Sarah recognized the smell of it as the one she felt near her nose when she was waking up, it was fresh and limpid.

“And what would your name be, Hero of Kvatch?”, he inquired, while applying carefully the light green mixture on her left cheek, on a deep gash she now remembered receiving from a dremora.

Sarah scoffed humourlessly, prompting Martin to lift his gaze from his ministrations and eye her with curiosity.

“Is that how they are calling me now?”, she spoke looking at nothing in particular with a small sardonic smile on her face. Her displeasure was hardly directed at him. Uriel Septim was proving himself right in his prophecies on every turn and people were beginning to notice her because of her actions again. Now, this was what Sarah desired the least. 

“You saved us, didn’t you?” he stated, his analytic gaze searching her face for a reasoning behind her reaction. Not picking any hint from it, he averted his eyes and focused on casting a healing spell on her arms, where the scorching heat coming from the Sigil Stone had reached past her armor and clothing. 

“Well, yes I did and I wanted to talk with you about it.”, she said on a whim and sighed afterwards. This was not how she wanted to start this conversation. Actually, she didn’t even know how she had wanted to start it, she hadn’t thought about it, even though she had had plenty of time.

At that, Martin eyed her with suspicion, furrowing his brows and deepening the already very marked lines on his face and shrouding himself even more with that mantel of professionalism, “Yes, hero?” 

Oh Gods, stop using this word!

“My name is Sarah Venius, I was sent here to meet you. You are in great danger, you have to come with me”, she hoped she sounded trustworthy because she didn’t know how else to address the matter.

“Sent? By whom?”, he inquired. His eyes narrowed and he stared at her face now, with a steely gaze. His hands had ceased to cast the healing spell and they rested on his lap. Damn Sarah, wrong choice of words.

“By the Emperor, he told m-”

“The Emperor is dead. Who are you? What do you really want with me?”, his gentleness from before had all but vanished, cold and critical eyes analyzed her face and gestures and his mouth was set in a thin line turned downwards, displeased.

Sarah sighed and closed her eyes, trying to recollect her thoughts. Feeling renewed by the water she drank, she pushed her torso up entirely and now was sitting face to face with Martin, to try and exhale an air of confidence.

“You are Martin, right? The priest?”, she looked deep into his eyes.

At that, his eyes lost that detached professional look to them. Casting them down and showing more of that already prominent sadness from before, Martin exhaled the air in his lungs and his shoulders slumped.

“Yes. I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the Gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it.”, his voice nowhere near firm as it was before.

Sarah tried again, forcing her voice to remain calm, not wanting to worsen the already dire state of their communication, “Martin...there is a plan and-”

“What are you talking about? I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”, he spat the answer at her poor attempt of explaining the inexplicable, voice low and tight.

Oh, angry now. How many emotions could this man possibly feel in the span of a minute? They looked like they were swimming and mixing behind that mask of detachment and, as soon as that mask retracted a little, they took hold of his mind until he rebuilt the wall. Now the grey in his eyes, that Sarah had associated first with dejection, looked like menacing storm clouds.

“Martin, listen to me! Plan or not, we need your help!”. Now her voice was increasing in volume, as was her irritation. How many testings would she have to go through just to get this man to Weynon Priory still? This shouldn’t be so difficult. She thought that her going to a daedric realm would be proof enough of her good faith.

“If you came to me for help, you're more of a fool than you look, _Sarah_.”, the stormy grey from before seemed to petrify in a stony gaze, full of concealed fury. 

Now that was too much.

“Enough!”, she yelled at his face, eyes irately burning holes at his, hands holding the wound in her abdomen that burned again from her efforts. She had no patience left, it had been dwilding since Jauffre sent her on this ridiculously senseless quest but of all people, she never imagined that a priest would be the person to stomp it to the ground. 

“Do you want to know why the Daedra destroyed Kvatch? Because of you!”, she said, while jabbing a finger in his chest. “Because you are the son of the late Emperor Uriel Septim, Gods guard and keep his soul. And I was sent to rescue you, since everyone else in your family tree is dead now and you should be the next! Now, you sit down and you listen to me!”

At that, the stony grey dissolved into that dejected color again, his blue eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock, his breathing stopped and the blood drained from his face. His shoulders, that had been slumped, were now hunched, as if he was recoiling from a punch. He was at a loss of words. Finally.

“....an entire city to get at me? ...why? Because I’m the emperor’s son?”, he let out fearfully after a moment or two of silence, as if he was afraid of the answer.

Sarah didn’t take pleasure or pride in what she had said, but he was listening to her now, at least.

“Why would I lie to you, Brother?”, she inhaled deeply, willing her voice to calm down. She got what she wanted and, despite her anger, there was no reason for her to keep being brash at him. They would have to coexist together for another few days, after all.

“I don't know. It's strange... I think you might actually be telling the truth. What does this mean? What do you want from me?”. His face was completely dejected and the blue of his eyes seemed even greyer than when he first entered the tent. He swept a hand through his matted hair, not knowing what to do with them as he awaited a response from Sarah.

“Come with me to Weynon Priory, Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades and he’ll be able to explain it better to you. We must leave at once”, she sighed, relieved he was more open to her explanations now. 

“No.”

“No?”

“Not now at least. I still have to look after some patients and you are not fit for travelling, hero”, he explained, shrouding himself with the authority from before, regaining some of his composure. 

“Martin, I don’t think you understood what is happening here. They destroyed one of the major cities of the province to reach you and it was pure luck that you got out alive. Do you think they’ll hesitate to destroy this encampment once they discover you are here?”. That warm feeling of irritation she had put out mere seconds ago reignited in her chest and Sarah balled her fists. By the Gods, this man was difficult. And she was stuck with him.

Martin seemed to consider her logic, pondering her words in silence. He rubbed his hands together, his brows were furrowed and his sightless eyes were fixed at some point on the ground.

After a few seconds, he gave her a defeated look and said in a small voice, “Fine, I’ll pack my things. Take this time to rest, hero.”

With that, Martin exited the tent, dragging his feet.

Laying back on her bedroll, her mind wandered while she looked at the hypnotizing shadows the the leaves outside cast upon the fabric. He was not what she expected. They way he portrayed himself in the beginning was characteristic of a priest, but he had more to him than that. That much was evidenced by the countless emotions that swam behind that professionalism and occasionally escaped his mental filter. And what he said about doubting the Gods...definitely surprising and yet understandable, given what he had gone through. She could only imagine it. 

Maybe she should have been more patient with him, anyone would be stunned after the events of the past few days. Maybe she should apologize to him, for being so brash and insensitive. Maybe she should have found another less direct way of telling the truth about his family, maybe he would hate her for it and taking him to Weynon Priory would be a living nightmare, maybe…

Ah, she needed to smoke.

Forcing herself up, she made for the corner where her equipment was left but before she could look for her smoking pipe, she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the bucket of water. Oh, she had forgotten about it. 

During one of the battles, her hair escaped her bun and she was so desperate to save her yellow ribbon from burning that she paid no attention to how close her long hair was to the fire. The right half of it caught fire and she cut it out quickly, before it reached her scalp and before the monster she was battling had the chance to strike her on the ground. Now, the left half reached just below her breast brand in wavy strands, while the right barely reached her shoulders. 

Sighing, Sarah grabbed her dagger and in a swift motion, cut the rest of it. Staring at her cut copper strands in her hand and the reflection of her now short hair, she struggled with her tears. She had to do it, it would have looked ridiculous otherwise but why was she feeling this loss? It was just hair, it would grow, so why? She shut her eyes tight and balled her fist with her hair in it, willing for the burning in her eyes to stop. It was just hair, it was just hair, it would grow.

Her train of thoughts was interrupted by a figure entering the tent and she immediately pulled herself together. She could mourn over something so petty when there wasn’t anyone looking, specially not the person she was supposed to protect. Only the person that entered was not Martin, it was the little girl from earlier.

She carried a small bowl that exhaled the smell of a warm stew and she didn’t seem to be sure of what she should do now. She held the bowl with her two hands, her eyes were cast down and was shuffling her little feet.

“Hm, may I help you?”, Sarah spoke delicately, doing her best to shove her sadness to the back of her mind again.

The girl hastily put the bowl of stew in Sarah’s hand and took a step back, still looking down. The latter waited for the child to say something but she just stood there with flushed cheeks so, uttering a gentle “thank you”, Sarah began sipping her meal.

“Please, teach me how to fight!”, the girl said tightly, on the verge of yelling and stared at Sarah’s surprised face with wide eyes, furrowing her brows. The woman put the bowl down, still looking startled at the girl and asking in a soft voice “I’m sorry?”

“I want to be a warrior!”, the girl announced proudly, not letting Sarah’s confusion discourage her. Her small body was rigid, her fists balled beside her torso and determined eyes.

“Why are you asking this from me?”. Sarah didn’t mean for her question to come off so mean. Her head was swimming in thoughts after the events of the last few days and this girl asking for her to teach sword fighting was just another stimulus for her already overwhelmed brain to process.

“Bec-because they said you closed that glowing thing outside the city and if...if I knew how to fight may-maybe Mama and Papa wou...would be still…and I wan...to..”, her resolve crumbled and she began to weep copiously. 

Sarah’s wall was torn down instantly, her heart fell to her stomach and she felt a painful sting in her chest that sent a burning feeling to her arms, her face crumbled easily into a pained expression. Assaulted by a sudden wave of compassion she did not fully comprehend, she pulled the small figure to her arms and wrapped her in a clumsy hug, doing her best to calm her down. It’s been a long time since she last did it, she was out of practice. The unknown girl wept on her shoulder, painful sobs racked her tiny body and with each, Sarah’s heart shattered a bit more.This hit dangerously close to home and she just hoped she could keep herself together. 

She rocked the girl back and forth, hopping to lull her into a calmer state, until the only sound filling the tent was their breathing. The girl was holding her undershirt tightly and her little knuckles were white from the strength. Sarah was rubbing her back lightly, trying to remember how she used to do it when Aliena was in the same state. She hummed a song and rested her cheek on top of the girl’s head, hoping she could ground her and pull her from the painful memories. When she was sure she had calmed down, she pried the girl from her to get a better look at her round face. The girl averted her eyes, probably ashamed of her sudden outburst, her cheeks and eyes were red and she had trails left by tears all over her. Sarah’s mouth turned upwards in a reassuring smile.

“What is your name, girl?”, she asked while drying the girl’s face with her scorched sleeves.

“Eliana.”

“Show me your hands, Eliana.”

Eliana showed her palms, not understanding what Sarah meant. Sarah, in turn, analyzed her small hands, holding them with delicacy and tracing the lines there with her calloused fingers. After some time, she nodded in approval.

“What?”, asked the girl in a raspy voice, because of her crying.

“Your hands look very strong. They are worker’s hands! Every warrior has worker’s hands!”, Sarah announced proudly to Eliana, beaming at the girl. Her teary eyes lit up in hope and she opened a big smile, forgetting the hurt she was feeling mere seconds ago.

“So you’ll teach me how to be a warrior?”, she asked in a excited voice.

“Oh? I thought you wanted to learn how to fight?”, Sarah made a funny face to her, as if she hadn’t understood the question, crossing her arms in front of her.

“They are not the same thing?” Sarah smiled at the girl, Eliana had asked the question she wanted her to.

“Absolutely not! You don’t have to know how to fight to be a warrior. You can, if you want. But I, myself, know a lot of incredible warriors that have never held a sword in their hands”, she responded to a curious Eliana, who hung on every word she said with unbridled excitement.

“Like who?”, Eliana asked with shining eyes.

“Oh, I know a baker-warrior. I know a warrior who can read incredibly difficult texts. I also know a warrior who can cook the best sweetroll in the entire province. There is even a warrior I know that cultivates the most beautiful flowers in Anvil. There was also a warrior that was the best at climbing tall trees!” With a finger on her chin, in a thoughtful gesture, Sarah listed them, with a fond smile coloring her face and bright eyes as she remembered their faces. She just hoped Eliana hadn’t notice how her act crumbled a bit at the mention of the last example.

“But you use a sword...and you are a warrior, right?”

“Maybe I am, but they are for sure, Eliana. What do you like doing, huh?”, she returned the question, eyeing the girl with equal fondness, leaning forward to catch a better glimpse at her face.

Eliana thought for a moment and animatedly responded “Playing tag!” 

“Well, then you’ll be a great warrior who plays tag and maybe can hold a sword too”, finished Sarah with an open smile on her face, she pointed the word “maybe” with a playful wave of her head and a squint of her hazel eyes. Eliana matched this smile with one of her own. 

Sarah hoped she had been able to dull a bit the pain of her loss even if it was just for a few hours. She understood all too well. Dulling the pain from moment to moment was all she had done for the past years and that was something Eliana would have to learn too. She just hoped she’d find better ways than hers. At the thought, her mood soured again and she tried her best to hide from Eliana how her smile didn’t reach her eyes anymore, not that she would notice.

Thankfully, Martin re-entered the tent, carrying a bag, and stopped short when seeing who was with Sarah inside.

“Eliana, what are you doing here?”

“Uncle Martin! This lady here was teaching me how to fight!”, responded Eliana, emphasizing the word “fight” by punching lightly the air in front of her. Sarah allowed her lips to curve upwards but contained it, once she saw the look Martin gave her.

“That’s very sweet of her, isn’t it Eliana? What do we say when someone does something nice for us?”, said Martin, turning his attention to the child, his gaze softening significantly and kneeling in front of the pair so his head was at the same level with the Eliana’s. His voice once again assumed that warmth Sarah heard in the beginning of their conversation and, for the first time, Sarah saw a genuine smile form on his face.

“Thank you, lady!”, said Eliana excitedly while exiting the tent.

Martin and Sarah stared at the exit with a soft smile on both of their faces for a moment, trying to hang on this delicate moment for just a bit more. The innocence Eliana carried to her filled the entire room and, for a moment, things seemed a bit brighter. If she, who probably just lost her family, could act like this, maybe they could too. Sarah wished she could shroud herself with this optimism and face things with the same disposition. However, this light aura vanished mere seconds after Eliana exited and the bitter realization that this happiness was an illusion for them both settled in.

Martin turned his now serious face towards Sarah, who had the same sour expression dominating her features, her eyes nowhere near as bright as they had been a few seconds ago.

“We’re leaving”, she stated as she donned her armor and gathered her equipment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it :) constructive criticism is always welcome!!
> 
> Just a curiosity, I included that talk about the "worker's hands" because of something that happened to me in high school. We were discussing the word "satiny" in a text and our teacher decided to test if the girls in class had "satiny hands". She touched the hands of two girls and said they did have satiny hands, when she touched mine, she stopped for a moment and said "Oh no, not you, you have worker's hands" and continued the class. And I was like "??"
> 
> I thought the expression fit well, given the message that Sarah was trying to pass to Eliana, so I used it hahahaha


	7. The Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically Martin's POV from last chapter. I thought it might be interesting to know both sides of the same situation, since it's an important moment for both of them. Let me know what you think!
> 
> A huge thank you for intyaliel and fruitywinner on Tumblr for reading the chapter beforehand, correcting it, giving their opinions of it and generally putting up with me! Thank you so so much!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well, Jesus Christ, I'm not scared to die  
> I'm a little bit scared of what comes after  
> Do I get the gold chariot?  
> Do I float through the ceiling?
> 
> Do I divide and fall apart?  
> Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark  
> And the ship went down in sight of land  
> And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands?"
> 
> Jesus Christ - Brand New

The few survivors were being moved from the ruined chapel to the small encampment, Martin and the mysterious woman amidst them. Martin had cured her just enough so she would survive until they reached the improvised settlement and until he had more supplies to look after her properly. Outside the chapel, the once bubbling plaza of Kvatch was drowned in a suffocating silence. Bodies of people and daedra alike littered the ground, the structures and vegetation that survived the fires from the Gate were painted red and the smell of burned flesh, hair and blood permeated the air.

At least some of it was washed away and masqueraded by the smell of the fresh rain that fell. Martin welcomed the cold from it and lifted his face towards the sky, to enjoy the fleeting relief it brought to his raging thoughts. He focused on the feeling of the drops hitting his face and wished they could wash away the dirt that seemed cemented on his skin as well as the terrible images that refused to disappear from his mind’s eye.

There wasn’t much he could do to distract himself. Everywhere he looked, he saw a lifeless familiar face, a lost limb, a ruined house that once belonged to someone he had known, an open space where children used to play at or a stall from a vendor he used to buy fruits from.  
The faces from his acquaintances in Kvatch mingled with his friends’ of so many years ago. Everything was too similiar, everything he saw there dug up some painful memory he thought he had overcome.

A burning feeling rose from the pit of his stomach, a lump formed in his throat and suddenly, it became difficult for him to breathe. His hands began shaking, although he felt them losing their strength.

He looked at his dirty palms again. They were bigger, had more callouses and lines than 17 years ago, but the blood lingered nevertheless. Neither the falling droplets, nor years in service of the gods could wash it away and he had been a fool for believing otherwise. Was he fated to see history repeat itself over and over again? 

The rain that had before offered him comfort now felt like it was pushing him to the ground, each droplet hitting his skin and clothes like the tip of a knife. Standing upright now seemed to require a lot of energy, which he possessed no more.

Had this tragedy been his fault once again? He pledged his soul to the Nine, had it not been enough? Did They ignore his prayers because he was not worthy of Their attention? He had almost been able to trick himself into believing he could be forgiven, but this carnage came only to prove his sins wouldn’t be so easily forgotten. Was his fate to see his loved ones die while he lingered, hands stained red? 

His eyes became unfocused, he wished he could just sit in the middle of the ruined plaza and wait for time to take his consciousness away. He’d be just another body amidst so many that perished before Oblivion, nameless and forgotten.

No.

If this had been his fault then it was his duty to help those who suffered because of him. He forced his eyes to focus and his legs to move despite his exhaustion. Gods or not, lives could be saved still, if he did his job. Balling his fists, he continued to follow the small group of survivors.

A guard carrying the mysterious woman passed Martin. This woman, she was another of his concerns. To dream about a specific person throughout the years was already rare enough, to see her grow in them was even stranger and to discover she was real and meet her was unsettling. Recapping the dreams he had with her, he counted 9 in total.

The third one occured years after the second, when he was already a priest. He remembered seeing a family of seven standing in the front of a gravestone. An older woman with red hair was carrying a small child who looked around not understanding what was happening. By her side stood a blond teenager girl, the eldest after the adult woman, she had a pink ribbon adorning her long strands and was holding the woman’s shaking shoulder. In her other hand, the blond held the small hand of a boy with olive skin and red hair, whose eyes were fixed on the grave and he struggled to not let his tears show.

On the other side of the adult woman stood the mysterious woman that showed in the chapel, although she had been barely a teenager in this dream. Her hair was adorned with the familiar yellow ribbon. In one of her arms, she held a weeping child with deep brown hair and in the other, the hand of a brunette girl who was about the same age as she was and had a dark green ribbon in her hair.

At some moment in the dream, the small girl in the young redhead’s arms began to cry harder, so she let go of the brunette’s hand and wrapped the child in a firm hug. The ginger teenager held the small child while lightly caressing her back and singing what seemed to be a lullaby, although Martin couldn’t hear what it said in the dream. Through the haze of the dream, he could remember how the redhead’s chin had trembled and how she had scrunched her face to stop her own tears from falling while singing, and how the older brunette had hugged her trembling arm and rested her chin on her shoulder, with the same pained expression on her face.

Before Martin could remember the next dream, he was pulled from his reminiscence by the voices coming from the small encampment. Struggling to come back from those lucid dreams, he focused on the task at hand. Watching the encampment from afar, he could see that not many people would need healing or assistance, some of those who were in the chapel might need further care but none of them were in critical condition.

He asked the guard to take the woman to a vacant tent while he gathered the supplies he needed. A lot of people came to thank him for saving their lives, for saving their loved ones, for not giving up on them and Martin did his best to remain polite while trying to brush it off and dodge these compliments and acknowledgments. Although their words were kind and though they smiled from relief, Martin could see how the images of fire and blood still lingered behind their irises, how the gelid terror coming from the Gate still chilled all the survivors to their bones. The fury that had been put out by the momentary relief was ignited again at the sight of the broken survivors, people that came to hear his sermons every week and, as Martin once did, believed in the benevolence of the gods. Now all of them sustained injuries, memories burned into their minds forever, and they all mourned their lost ones. And yet, there was not a single response from their gods.

If they saw the storm gathering behind his kind eyes, if they saw the anger, the doubt and the fury, they’d not thank him, they’d scorn him for his lack of faith but Martin couldn’t bring himself to utter even a small prayer to the gods, thanking Them for his survival. The gods hadn’t saved them, this woman had and there she was, burned and scarred, fighting for her life. They called her the Hero of Kvatch but to him, she was yet another person for his aching hands to tend to. Yet another person the gods didn’t bother to spare the suffering. Yet another person to be mourned if he couldn’t save her life. Yet another pair of haunted eyes to join the countless he saw now.

Martin took a deep breath, focused on the supplies he needed and headed to the tent to heal the mysterious woman.

She had been laid in a bedroll, her armor, which Martin had removed in the chapel to take the first look at her wounds, was laid in the corner, as were her weapons and the rest of her gear. She was left only with her undershirt, trousers and stockings, all of her clothes were scorched, dirty and torn. Moving his eyes to her face, her eyes had stopped moving behind her eyelids and her breathing was steadier than when she first arrived at the chapel.

Martin sighed and, uttering a quiet apology to the unconscious woman, lifted the hem of her undershirt once again and forced a healing spell to come out from his fingers. His eyes had difficulty in focusing his sight and he often had to re-center them on his patient, his hands shook from exhaustion, but he kept pouring his magicka onto her wounds. The muscles on his back and neck lacked the strength to keep his shoulders and head upright, which caused his head to droop. Moving to her thigh, he sat on his heels and carefully teared further the hole in the fabric from her trousers to expose the wound and proceeded to heal it.

After healing the graver injuries, he cleaned them with water and a cloth, bandaged them and focused on her burns. Martin cleaned them very carefully to not damage her skin further, placed wet bandages on the top of the burned areas to hydrate them and cast quick healing spells. He couldn’t heal her wounds completely because they were beyond what his magicka could do for now and even if he had the magicka, forcing such a quick response from her body for these grave injuries would leave her unnecessarily scarred and the pain would linger much longer than it should. She’d need more healing sessions after she woke up.

Lastly, he cleaned her bloodied mouth and nose, as well as the edges of the angry gash she had on her cheek. Martin had healed it quickly in the chapel, to make it stop bleeding at least but the process hadn’t been complete and the wound was opening again. Focusing all of his magicka to make this final effort, he closed the gash as best as he could without getting breathless and dizzy. After that, he smashed some herbs in a light green pasty mixture to aid the healing and delicately began applying on her left cheek.  


While he did so, his mind drifted to the fourth dream he had had about her. It happened almost two years after the third. The younglings from the last dream were present, but the older redhead woman couldn’t be seen anywhere in it. They seemed to be in a big room, full of other children from different ages, seated at a long table and eating a simple and humble meal. The redhead with the yellow ribbon and the brunette with the green ribbon were chatting animatedly with the boy and the other younger brunette girl. The eldest with blond hair was feeding the youngest child that had been in the adult woman’s arms in the last dream, watching her four companions with amusement.

The four had cut their apples in slices and each one had tried to assemble their pieces to form some sort of design in their plates and were judging each other’s work of art. After some time, the redhead and the two brunettes pointed to the boy, who laughed and clapped his hands together, reaching for a slice from each one of the three, while they laughed at his excitement.

Martin’s mind was brought back to the present when the woman wrinkled her nose in discomfort. In his distraction and tiredness, Martin accidentally had smeared the paste on the woman’s nose as well. Sighing, he cleaned the mess he had made on this stranger’s face and pushed his hair back, closing his eyes for a moment. Maybe he could get some sleep before tending to her and his other patients as well.

Exiting the tent, he was quickly approached by a child, who had been waiting for him. She grabbed his dirty robes and looked up.

“Eliana? Is everything alright?”, asked Martin in a gentle and caring tone, even if a bit gruff.

“Uncle Martin, do you want me to look after her while you are gone?”, she asked loudly. “What?”

“I can look after her while you are gone and tell you if she wakes up.” “That’s so kind of you, Eliana, but why? Rest a bit, stay with your parents.”

“They...they…”, her face deflated, she released his robes, looking down.

Martin closed his eyes tight and slapped himself mentally. He hadn’t seen her parents in the encampment and they weren’t in the chapel with the other survivors. They were dead but the realization hadn’t dawned on him until it was too late and now she was on the verge of tears. Crouching in front of her, he opened his arms and she buried her tiny face in his shoulder and wept a bit.

“Oh Eliana, I’m so sorry, please forgive me… I...” Martin hadn’t any words of comfort. He could tell her that her parents were with the gods now, but what comfort was that for a child? The only thing she knew was that her most loved people on Nirn weren’t with her and they’d never be again. What difference did it make if they were with the gods or not? None, his  
conscience screamed at him. Trying to make her believe that would come off as a lazy attempt of comfort and Eliana deserved more than that. And right now, there was no comfort he could offer to her besides a tight hug and some sort of distraction. So, despite his muscles spasming from fatigue and his eyes that burned from the lack of sleep, he offered, “Eliana, I was going to sleep a bit but I just realized I’m a bit hungry. Are you hungry?” Eliana nodded with teary eyes. He wasn’t that hungry, he would gladly skip a meal if it meant sleeping a few minutes, but Eliana wouldn’t be able to sleep in this state and he couldn’t leave her in such a moment.

“Well, what if we helped Sigrid prepare a meal?”

Martin held her hand in his and led her to the fire where Sigrid was cutting some vegetables for a stew, trying to hide how his legs trembled and how his knees ached from kneeling for a long a time. For the next half hour, he and Eliana helped prepare the meal. He did his best to distract her, be it challenging her to cut animal shaped slices out of potatoes and carrots, or telling her stories of heroes or monsters. At this point, his mind was already working automatically and his consciousness was receding more and more, his eyes worked but he wasn’t seeing anything anymore and his voice uttered words he wouldn’t remember later, his memory barely registered Eliana’s answers to him.

After finishing with the vegetables, they both sat by the fire and waited for the food. The soothing warmth of the fire, its hypnotizing dancing flames, the delicate crackling and the smell of food quickly lulled Eliana to sleep and she rested her head against Martin’s arm, who sighed in relief.

Very careful to not wake her, he carried her to a tent and laid her in a bedroll, covering her with a blanket. He laid on a vacant bedroll by her side and was asleep almost immediately after.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Uncle Martin! Uncle Martin! She’s awake!”

His mind was pulled from his blissful calm sleep by Eliana’s high-pitched voice. He groaned in frustration as he tried to get the cogs in his mind to work. How long had he slept? When had Eliana woken up and gone to watch his patient? His body still ached everywhere and his muscles were tired still, but his mind seemed clearer now, he was able to at least to focus on things again.

“Uncle Martin, she is awake”, Eliana said, entering the tent.

Rubbing his eyes tightly, Martin stretched, cracking his knuckles and yawning.

“Thank you, Eliana. I’ll check on her now. You try to get some more sleep, ok?”, he responded stiffly, despite the sleepy haze that still clouded his vision and his reasoning.  
Eliana looked like she wanted to protest but decided against it, opting for lying again on her bedroll. Her eyes flooded with tears although she visibly tried to stop them and Martin’s gaze softened a bit. Before he exited the tent, he lightly caressed her blonde strands, saying more gently this time, “You already helped me a lot, Eliana, by telling me she is awake. Maybe after I see how she is, you can bring her a bowl of that stew we made and I’m sure it will make her happy and you’ll help me even more.”

Eliana seemed a bit better after that, Martin exited the tent and grabbed the supplies he would need again. Stopping in front of the entrance of the tent she was in, he realized his heart was beating fast, his stomach was burning and he was beginning to hyperventilate.

Why was he feeling this nervous? She was just another patient, he’d tend to her injuries and continue with his life. She was just another patient… a patient he’d dreamed about for the past 25 years. He’d seen her crying, laughing and furious and meeting her now felt like meeting the character as well as the author of a book he’d been reading for years. He was feeling scared and excited at the same time.

He took a deep breath and scolded himself for his immature behavior. He was just a priest who would heal this woman and be done with it. With that in mind, he put up a neutral expression, willed his heart to stop pounding against his ribcage and entered the tent.

As soon as he stepped inside, the woman’s head turned in his direction and his heart skipped a beat at her expression. She didn’t have the haunted eyes that he assumed she would have. On the contrary, her eyes were bright, focused and piercing, analyzing his movements and face and it reminded him of the look she bore in the dream when she was in prison. He made his way to her side and she kept staring without saying a word as he kneeled and placed his supplies on the floor.

Her face had a more healthy color to it now, her eyes were the hazel he remembered from his dreams but the luminosity coming from above reflected on them, making them acquire a honeyed color. Her lips were still chapped from dehydration, the bags under her eyes were prominent and her cheeks seemed a bit red and burned from the heat of the Gate. The pasty mixture he had applied on her cheek earlier had already dried and the gash seemed a bit better, although the edges were still swollen and red.

“How do you feel?”, he asked the automatic question, to force himself to stop staring at her face and prevent his treacherous mouth to shower her with countless questions like “What is your name?”, “Why have you been appearing in my sleep since I was a teenager?”, “Why have you entered an Oblivion Gate?” or “Why on Nirn are you here to begin with?”

She seemed to snap from whatever thoughts were on her mind and tried to utter some words before she was assaulted by a fit of dry coughs. Martin sighed and once more  
slapped himself mentally. In his anxiety to talk to her, he simply forgot the fact that she was heavily dehydrated and really wounded.

Because of the strength she put into the coughing, the wound on her torso must have sent a spark of pain through her, because she grabbed her abdomen tightly while she struggled to stop the fit. Martin quickly grabbed her hand and put it aside, lifted the hem of her shirt yet one more time and delicately cast a healing spell from each of his hands, on her torso and on her throat.

She calmed down and resumed watching his face closely and Martin flashed a small smile to try and hide his embarassment for his lack of tact.

He poured a glass of water and offered her. He watched as her face scrunched in pain as she lifted her wounded torso, tight mouth and trembling arms. She accepted the glass with a trembling hand and gulped all the content in one go. She returned the glass to him, greedily asking for more, slightly out of breath because of the effort. She repeated the process one more time before lying down again, satisfied for now.

She let out a loud sigh and closed her eyes momentarially in relief. Martin felt a strange feeling in his chest at the sight of her, vulnerable and… human. If earlier he had compared meeting her with meeting a character from a book he read, now it felt like they were different people. He’d seen her in several situations and even if his visions weren’t real, her emotions in them had felt really credible then, but compared to this, those emotions seemed unreal. This small interaction they had until now, where she hadn’t uttered a word and hadn’t showed any emotion besides pain, felt more real and warm than all the dreams he had and this humanity he felt emanating from her desconcetrated his thoughts.

“Do you feel pain or discomfort anywhere else?”, he inquired again, trying to put some distance between who he saw in his dreams and his patient. Maybe if tried hard enough, he could pretend to himself that he wasn’t being affected by her presence. Putting a hand to her forehead, he used his left hand to pull the skin under her eyes down. Her temperature was normal, her eyes weren’t red and her pupils were the normal size for this level of luminosity. 

“Are you Brother Martin?” Her voice and response weren’t what he expected to hear. First, her voice was hoarse but not in an unpleasant way and her timber was graver than he imagined. Second, she didn’t answer his question, but he gave a response anyway by nodding his head and kept his hands busy by mixing the paste and apllying on her cheek..

“And what would your name be, Hero of Kvatch?” This was it, his heart began speeding again at the prospect of finally discovering her name. His curiosity was met by a dry and bitter scoff coming from her. Martin’s eyes lifted and he searched her face, this was not a typical response one would expect to hear when calling someone a hero. She had stopped staring at him and was looking at nothing in particular, with a raised brow and a mocking smile on her face. He didn’t know where the irony was, but she definitely didn’t look happy.

“Is that how they are calling me now?”, she murmured, more to herself than him 

“You saved us, didn’t you?”, it was an obvious question. He tried to sound nonchalant as much as he could, while casting gentle healing spells on her burned arms.

“Well, yes I did and I wanted to talk with you about it.” The words escaped her mouth and she looked surprised at herself for uttering them, as if she didn’t mean to say that.

Did she now? Martin searched her face for anything that gave him a hint about her cryptic behavior. He may have recognized her from his dreams, but they had never met in person before, neither of them knew anything about each other. He furrowed his brow in confusion and for a moment he was grateful for her odd behavior, that way it was easier to focus and not get lost in her presence. “Yes, hero?”.

She visibly cringed at how he addressed her and once again Martin wondered why, but she responded anyway. “My name is Sarah Venius, I was sent here to meet you. You are in great danger, and you have to come with me.”

So she finally had given him her name but the relief of having one of his doubts satisfied after 25 years was eclipsed by his suspicions. She was sent? By whom? The images from last night came rushing back to his mind, images from his time in the cult, all the horrible things that happened, the worst being his friends dying, came to him now. Has his past finally caught up with him? Her showing up at the most convenient time and marching towards that enormous Gate without so much as a blink, her odd behavior at being called a hero and now the revelation that she was sent here to meet him. The warmth and humanity he swore he could feel emanating from her were fully gone, and he eyed her cautiously, ready to defend himself if needed.

His mind was running wild with the possibilities this situation presented. Had the Gate been his fault? Why did she close it, and why did she need to discuss this with him? Had she been sent by someone in the cult? After so many years… was she sent by someone who wanted revenge for someone’s death? But why now, after 17 years? Were the gate and her presence here tied to his past sins? Was he to blame for it?

He retracted his hands from her as if they burned, deepened his frown and voiced his concerns- “Sent? By whom?”

She closed her eyes quickly as if scolding herself for what she said and tried once again, struggling to keep her voice at an acceptable volume, “By the Emperor, he told m-”

By the Emperor? Now this was getting ridiculous. He healed her, he looked after her and she responded to his concerns by talking gibberish and making him lose important time, he could be helping others now. 

“The Emperor is dead. Who are you? What do you really want with me?”, he cut her off mid sentence. No time for this nonsense, he just wanted to know who she was and why she was there and be done with it. There were other people he had to look after and she was wasting his time. If she was the person he’d been curious about for decades, their meeting sure felt like a disappointment.

He stared at her with cold and piercing eyes and she almost flinched under it. She was looking at his face with eyes widened a bit and an open mouth. Recovering from his answer, she sighed, furrowed her brows and closed her eyes, to collect her thoughts or to prevent herself from landing a blow on his face, he didn’t know, she sure looked like she wanted to. She groaned a bit as she moved her torso up to sit upright and look him in the eyes.

“You are Martin, right? The priest?”, she asked delicately, betraying her impatient expression.

At those words, his suspicions and irritation were overrun by the sadness and tiredness he so desperately tried to control for the sake of others. Yes, he was a priest and what good was that? The self-loathing and hatred for Those who supposedly should look after them flooded his mind and he cast his eyes down, he suddenly lacked the strength to hold Sarah’s gaze. The images he tried to keep at bay started replaying behind his eyelids and the faces of those he couldn’t save flooded his memory and haunted him. He thought about Eliana, who at the age of eight had seen more than anyone should see in their lifetime, he thought about Marianne, who called him a liar and hypocrite just before dying. And she had been right. He was a liar and a deceiver and worse, he didn’t even believe in his own lies anymore. He was a healer that couldn’t save lives and a priest that couldn’t offer guidance and comfort for those left behind. Was he even worth anything?

“Yes. I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it”, he let out before he could stop his tongue.

Sarah's eyes widened at his display of vulnerability and dejection and her voice softened significantly, not knowing exactly what to say. “Martin...there is a plan and-”

Oh his blood boiled at that. The red from the wounds and the skies clouded his vision, he could hear the screams and moans of pain faintly in his memories. No, there was not a plan and if she thought so, it was because she hadn’t seen what he had and because she was a naive fool.

“What are you talking about? I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”.

“Martin, listen to me! Plan or not, we need your help!” Her eyes had acquired a pleading look and her voice increased in volume, becoming hoarser the louder she tried to speak.

Had she not heard what he just said? He and his gods were worthless and useless now. 

“If you came to me for help, you're more of a fool than you look, Sarah”, he spat her name in disgust. He didn’t want to know about her anymore, he couldn’t care less about why she had been in his dreams, he didn’t want to hear her pathetic excuses about what happened, he couldn’t care less if she was sent and he couldn’t care less by whom she was sent. He just wanted to be left alone.

He watched as her face contorted in anger, she bared her teeth and he could see a blazing anger taking hold of her eyes and mind. Apparently he had depleted her patience and she didn’t bother to try and be nice to him anymore.

“Enough! Do you want to know why the Daedra destroyed Kvatch? Because of you!”, she dared to jab a finger on his chest as she unleashed her irritation at his surprised face. “Because you are the son of the late Emperor Uriel Septim, gods guard and keep his soul”, she spat ironically, her voice venomous. “And I was sent to rescue you, since everyone else in your family tree is dead now and you should be the next! Now, you sit down and you listen to me!”

His heart stopped. So his fears were confirmed and all this tragedy had indeed been his fault, albeit not for the reason he imagined. Son of the Emperor? What? This revelation didn’t hurt quite as much as the confirmation of his responsibility in this mess. So this was it. He had known it, of course he did, deep down he knew it. The blood truly couldn’t be washed from his hands. It kept staining his palms, no matter how he tried to scrub them clean and he was so exhausted of trying. He almost had been able to trick himself into believing they were free of it after so many years, that he would be able to forget the nauseating smell of blood on them, but he had been a fool. And the gods saw fit to destroy an entire city to prove it to him.

“....an entire city to get at me? ...why? Because I’m the emperor’s son?” He didn’t want to hear it again, but he had to ask.

“Why would I lie to you, Brother?” Her voice was calmer now and had lost that poisonous tone to it, although she emphasized the last word sardonically.

“I don't know. It's strange... I think you might actually be telling the truth. What does this mean? What do you want from me?”. The question wasn’t directed at Sarah, it wasn’t directed at anyone in particular. He was actually glad she’d lay the path before him, because so far he’d tried to figure it out for himself and he had gotten it wrong. Even after everything he tried to give his life some meaning and direction, he was still lost. What could he possibly offer to others but misery?

Something stirred within him. Some sort of recognition or realization, a gut feeling. Something within him compelled him to follow what she was saying. Was this the explanation for his dreams? They said the Septim saw more than lesser men, could those dreams have been building up to this very moment? Should he follow her? Something screamed for him to do it. Would he run from the massacre he was responsible for, like the coward he was? 

“Come with me to Weynon Priory, Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades and he’ll be able to explain it better to you. We must leave at once.” His musings were interrupted by her hoarse voice. 

“No.”

“No?” That same spark of irritation could be heard again in her voice.

“Not now at least. I still have to look after some patients and you are not fit for travelling, hero.”, he made sure to emphasize the last word. He would follow her then, but only once he had taken responsability for this slaugther.

“Martin, I don’t think you understood what is happening here. They destroyed one of the major cities of the province to reach you and it was pure luck that you got out alive. Do you think they’ll hesitate to destroy this encampment once they discover you are here?”, she spoke as a matter of fact and her logic was right, even if admitting it hurt him even further.

Ah, there he was again, trying to play the martyr. Martin, the priest always trying to make others think he’s a victim of the circumstances. Poor Martin, he cares so much for others, he’s so altruistic for healing people until he almost passes out, he’s so honorable for wanting to stay and take care of the hurt. He had to suppress a laugh at his own pitiful act. Who was he trying to deceive? He was selfish, he didn’t want to heal people because he cared for them, he wanted to heal them so that he could live with himself. He was selfish and a coward. Staying because of his own selfishness was even more disgraceful than leaving.

“Fine, I’ll pack my things. Take this time to rest, hero”, he said in a flat voice.

Exiting the tent and seeing the faces of the survivors, knowing his very existence was to blame for their misery was heart-wrenching. It was worse than he thought, it were not his actions that caused this tragedy, it was the fact that he was born. If he had died when his friends did, it would be better for everyone, himself included. That way he wouldn’t need to live in shame and regret and Kvatch would stand still. In fact, it would be better if he never had been born at all… if Uriel hadn't sired him outside his marriage.

He walked with his hands limply hanging by his sides, avoiding the eyes of everyone in the encampment. He couldn’t look at anyone, if he did, if someone came to thank him for his services, he didn’t know if he would be able to stop himself from laughing maniacally at their face. His hands were shaking and Martin balled his fists to stop them, his feet dragged and his vision was blurred.

He gathered the few possessions he had, the shaking in his hands increasing with every second. A bit of gold, a bottle of wine because at this point why the fuck not, a copy of The Ten Commandments of the Nine Divines that he could burn to provide a bit of warmth during their journey, a loaf of bread, some bandages for Sarah and his enchanted dagger, the one thing he kept from his time in the Mages Guild. When he packed the last item, the shaking was uncontrollable.

In this dark corner, away from the eyes of the faithful and of his savior, Martin kneeled and, putting his head in his trembling hands, allowed the emotions he was suppressing for the last hours out. He wept for Eliana, for her parents, for Marianne, for the lives he couldn’t save, for those who mourned their loved ones. He wept as he remembered the attack, the screams. He wept for his friends that died so many years ago, for his father that hadn’t been his father and still took care of him. He wept because of the anger, the disappointment at the gods he so faithfully served for almost 20 years, he wept because of the fear and the exhaustion. He wept because of the unending shame in his heart, because people still suffered because of him. He wept because of the growing self-hatred, he wept because of the realization that he still hadn’t improved since that fateful night, he wept because the one good thing he believed he possessed, his compassion, was only masqueradeing his selfishness. 

The smell of blood seemed to cover his whole body now, suffocating him.

Crouched, he pulled on the strands of his hair in frustration while his exhausted fatigued body trembled with the sobs that escaped his mouth.

Pulling himself together after a few moments of weakness, he straightened up, smoothed his hair, dried his tears and placed his supplies in a small bag.  


He returned to the tent, only to find Eliana animatedly talking to Sarah. Apparently Eliana had followed Martin’s advice and brought his patient a bowl of the stew that was placed on the floor, unfinished.

Sarah had cut the other half of her hair, to match the right half that was shorter after she returned from the Gate and the cut strands laid forgotten on the floor beside her dagger. She had her mouth open in a big smile that illuminated her entire face, although it still didn’t reach her eyes. The expression caught Martin off guard and he stared a bit. After everything that happened, their conversation and her wounds, he hadn’t imagined that a smile was an expression he’d see so easily on her face. The same went for Eliana, who was staring at Sarah with eyes shining.

“Eliana, what are you doing here?”

The child turned towards his voice and offered him the same brilliant smile she was giving Sarah and his heart stung with guilt.

“Uncle Martin! This lady here was teaching me how to fight!”, she said excitedly while punching the air with her small fists.

Martin eyed Sarah disapprovingly and she tried to suppress the lighthearted small smile that threatened to appear on her face. At least she was able to pull Eliana from the painful memories for a bit and, for that, he was grateful.

So he decided to play along with them, despite himself. He crouched in front of them and offered a genuine smile of his own to match theirs and, in his peripheral vision, he noticed Sarah staring at them. “That’s very sweet of her, isn’t it Eliana? What do we say when someone does something nice for us?”, he instructed Eliana as a father would do, while also cursing himself for his hypocrisy.

“Thank you, lady!”, she said while running out.

Martin still stared at the entrance of the tent for a few moments and hoped his heart could retain a little from this warmth, he’d need it for whatever task would come next. He wished he could do more for her, Eliana was such a precious child and to know that had been his fault that she’d grow up without her parents felt like a cold hand was squeezing his stomach. He could do nothing but hope she’d find caring and kind people to look after her and he trusted the people in Kvatch to do it, they’d never shown him anything but kindness and good faith. Though they were now people that are broken because of him.

With this bitter thought, he turned his now serious face towards the hero, who watched him mirroring his expression, eyes focused and a steely gaze. She got up wincing from the pain and began donning her armor.

“We’re leaving”, she stated as a matter of fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome!! Please, tell what you think on the comments! I love when you guys comment :) Also, in case you are wondering what Sarah's voice sounds like, listen to Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes


	8. Forgotten Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! Thank you so so much to intyaliel and pinkmeerket on Tumblr for reading this beforehand and offering some great advice and opinions!  
> In this one, Martin and Sarah have to leave Kvatch quickly but this small task turned out to be more difficult than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Boy, when I left you, you were young  
> I was gone, but not my love  
> You were clearly meant for more  
> Than a life lost in the war"
> 
> Youth - Glass Animals

“If we leave now, we should reach Skingrad an hour after the sun sets. I want to avoid the road at night so we better get moving. We sleep there and buy new clothes and supplies tomorrow. From there, it’s another few days until Chorrol”, Sarah explained their itinerary while donning her armor automatically, her dexterous hands fastening the buckles without paying much attention, except for her occasional hiss when the metal scraped against one of her injuries.

“If you want to avoid the roads at night, why leave now?”, Martin inquired.

“Because you already stayed here for too long. They’ll find out you survived in no time and will attack again”, Martin seemed to recoil even more at her words, Sarah noticed from the corner of her eyes.

“They? The daedra?”, Martin asked in a small voice, casting his defeated eyes down.

“The daedra or the people who killed the Emperor”, she responded nonchalantly, fixating her swords on her hips.

“Who are they?”

“Enough talk. Let’s get going”, Sarah glared at Martin, cutting any questions he still might have and bumping into his shoulder on purpose as she made her way out of the tent. Her rushed pace stopped short as soon as she stepped outside.

Without the thundering of the storm and the horridly foreign red sky, Sarah was gifted with a beautiful sight outside of the tent. 

The sky was painted purple, pink and orange by the dying light of the sun descending to the horizon. The heavy storm clouds that loomed over them earlier could still be seen far away. Their inferior half, dark and menacing, a stark contrast with the superior part that was tinted by the colorful hue that dominated the rest of the sky, like blotting paper. Soon the darkening blue of the night would start chasing the colors away. The vegetation and rock formations that surrounded the small encampment shimmered when the fading light touched the droplets of water that had lodged themselves on the leaves and cracks, making the scenery flicker as if it was behind golden glass. A faint trace of sulphur could be made out in the air but it was quickly overcome by the smell of wet earth when the wind blew.

Sarah’s hand instinctively went to grab her drawing notebook tucked in her backpack but restrained herself as she sensed Martin stopping just next to her. Now was not the time, it never was. Blinking and waving her head slightly, she forced her mind out of whatever trance she was in and forced her feet to move forward.

Unfortunately, her small pause in front of her tent was enough for everyone in the encampment to notice she was awake. Soon the beautiful view was blocked by a flock of people, all thanking her and smiling at the same time, to the point where Sarah couldn’t discern any word.

Instantly she put one hand in front of her body defensively while grabbing Martin’s and maneuvering her way through the people, mumbling you’re welcomes and excuse me’s. Her awkwardness turned into discomfort as she could hear people calling her their hero. Martin noticed how she bit her lip and how she doubled her efforts to navigate the crowd faster upon hearing the word. In her haste to leave the encampment, they both failed to see a flimsy figure that struggled to reach them from behind the mob.

Eyes fixated on Schaum, Sarah pulled the priest forcefully forward, only stopping when she recognized the voice calling them from the settlement.

“Wait!”, a strident voice sounded coming from the encampment and Sarah and Martin could make out a small figure running in their direction. Eliana arrived at where they stood, stopping abruptly in front of Martin, small closed fists at her sides and eyes full of hurt.

“You- you are leaving?”, her look rose from the ground to their faces and even though both were way taller than her, Sarah and Martin shrunk and shivered under her sorrowful gaze. Her almond eyes alternated between their faces, looking for an answer while their minds struggled for one.

Martin was the first one to recover from the surprise. Kneeling in front of Eliana, he spoke with the sweetest and calmest voice he could summon, “Eliana, I’m so sorry for not telling you but I’ll need to leave for a bit. I’d like to stay but this is something I need to do.”

“But you’ll come back, right?”. The thin sliver of hope in her voice was lost in the air as soon as it left her mouth and yet it rang within Sarah's ears and stung in her chest.

“I- I may, Eliana, someday. But it’ll take some time yet.” Martin himself seemed to struggle with his words, the authority he displayed earlier was nowhere to be seen, replaced by uncertainty when confronted with Eliana’s confusion. Guilt and shame danced together in the ocean of his eyes. The slight tremble in his hands was not lost to Sarah, even when he tried to hide it by tucking a stray lock of hair behind Eliana’s ear. 

Sarah’s heart got lost inside her chest at the sight of the tears that threatened to fall from Eliana’s eyes, even though she tried so hard to hold them at bay. Heat rose from the pit of her stomach to her throat, burning as it made its way up, watering her eyes and knotting painfully where her heart should be. 

Sarah took a deep breath to relieve the discomfort, taking a step back to allow Martin and Eliana some space.

Eliana restrained her tears until the burning in her eyes became unbearable. She wept quietly and restrainedly, trying to suppress the sobs that shook her and wiping away the tears as soon as they left her eyes but it was no use. Martin’s shame spilled from his eyes to his entire expression that now was knotted in a sorrowful scowl. He gathered her in his arms and lifted her, swaying slowly while rubbing her back to try and soothe her pain. She, on the other hand, threw her arms around his neck and clung to his robes, burying her face in them.

Sarah’s hand went to her lips and, picking at the hurt and dry skin there, she allowed her vision to unfocus from the familiar scene ahead and concentrate on the sting caused by her already bloody fingertips. Her attention only returned to the situation as Martin set Eliana back on the ground and she turned her tearful eyes to her.

Eliana’s tormented gaze was fixed on Sarah and she found herself frozen at the spot, the knot in her chest twisted, causing heat to shoot up her throat again. Eliana’s eyes belonged to her and to countless other people at that moment. That gaze contained all tears ever cried by those left behind, it overflew with all the words ever stuck in the throats of those who never got to choose. A gaze that Sarah knew all too well. 

Would it petrify in an unrelenting stone like Ariana’s? Would it transmute in a shallow smile like Gustav’s? Would it discolor to a cold rationality like Aliena’s? Would it dilute in a distant apathy like Christine’s? Or would it flare in ardent ferocity like Sarah’s?

Biting her lower lip, Sarah approached Eliana slowly. If only she had stopped Eliana from coming too close, if only she hadn’t hugged her back, maybe she could have delayed her disappointment just a bit more. Now Eliana was about to lose yet another two people she cared about. _“You caused it, now you commit to it, Sarah”_ , Eris’ voice pointed out again, as it did just before she entered the gate.

Although Sarah’s eyes didn’t move from Eliana’s, she could see how Martin’s watchful gaze followed her, shame turned into caution. Eliana’s expression also cleared as soon as the woman began moving towards her: she immediately straightened her flimsy shoulders, set her chin up and struggled to put up a brave expression while closing her small fists tightly. Sarah, on the other hand, smiled fondly at the effort and didn't’ try to hide how her steps faltered a bit and how her injured leg hurt as she kneeled.

Eliana followed Sarah’s movements with her warm eyes and as Sarah got closer, her frown only deepened in a desperate attempt to contain her tears in front of her. The fighter could almost picture Gustav’s eyes staring back at her at that moment, and she did to Eliana exactly what she’d to him, if it was him in front of her. Sarah delicately brought her small fists to between them both and slowly forced her fingers open, revealing palms with half-circular red marks on them, where her nails dug in the skin.

In just one night, Eliana’s hands had already acquired marks worth lifetimes. Marks that belonged to those who once held their loved ones, only to be left empty right after, longing for the missing warmth. The cold would hammer the marks onto her skin, and she’d spend her life looking for small warmths to fill the gap.

What could she do?

Sarah rubbed her thumbs on the small marks to relieve the sting there and opened her palm next to Eliana’s. That warmth was foreign to her at this point, after so many years since she last felt it, but maybe she remembered the sensation enough to pass it to Eliana.

“You really have warrior’s hands. I was right about you. Maybe one day you can teach me how to be one too”, Sarah lifted her eyes to Eliana’s and watched bitter-sweetly how they lightened so easily at her compliment. The older woman then took hold of the young warrior’s shoulders to refocus her attention and emphasized seriously, “You already are a powerful warrior and I’m so proud of you, Eliana.”

Eliana’s eyes filled with tears again and once more she tried to contain them in front of Sarah, as if the latter was someone she should impress.

“It’s ok to cry, you know? I’ll miss you too.” That was the cue Eliana’s emotions needed to overflow again and Sarah was quick to gather the child in her arms and hold her while she cried. She rubbed her small back and held the back of her head, smoothing her blond hair there. Sarah risked a look to Martin and found him watching the scene with unshed tears brimming in his eyes, that he soon averted from her surprised gaze.

Eliana took a few seconds to calm down and, sniffing forcefully, she risked a look to Sarah, who brought her hand to dry the tears. The child’s eyes followed her hand, focusing on the ribbon wrapped around her wrist.

“Pretty”, Eliana whispered, pointing to it.

“Do you like it?”, Sarah asked and watched as Eliana shyly waved her head affirmatively.

Could she really…? The knot in her chest twisted again at the thought. Could she give it to her? Another wave of heat up her throat. 

_“Stupid. You continue to think everything is about you even in this situation.”_ Shut up, Eris. Sarah reprimanded the small voice inside her head. _“You broke the bond with our family many years ago. Why do you act as if you didn’t?”_

That ribbon was the last lie she could tell herself. 

_“It’s not a dirty piece of fabric that will tie you to us, Sarah. You made sure that’s impossible.”_ But if not for that ribbon, she would be truly asunder from any home. _“As if you deserved one! Even if you did, Eliana needs it more than you. Idiot, even after all this time, you still only think about yourself.”_

It was true.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sarah realized she had been staring at her wrist while Eliana eyed her with curious eyes, waiting for her to say anything.

“Well, I think you would look after it much better than I would.” The words tasted bitter and sounded foreign in her mouth, they hurt in her ears. Perhaps Eris was right, and she didn’t learn a thing after all. Those words deserved to hurt. “Could you take care of it until I come back?”

“You’ll come back?!” Eliana’s voice suddenly rose up in volume, bringing Sarah’s mood slightly up as well. 

“I intend to. And...I intend to bring you a ribbon too! What color do you like?”, she risked an open mouth smile to match the huge one forming on Eliana’s face.

“Red!”

“Oh! I love that color!”, Sarah said while clapping her hands together in an approving gesture, “Very well! Next time I’ll bring you a beautiful red ribbon! Until then, could you look after mine very carefully?”

“Yes!” Joy was radiating from Eliana’s smile, her eyes practically glowing in the dying light of the day, and she was bouncing on her heels of excitement.

“Turn around, then.”

Eliana obeyed and, with a knot in her throat and unsteady hands, Sarah unwrapped her yellow ribbon from her wrist and brought it to the child’s hair. She smoothed the knots a bit and wrapped the piece of fabric around the blonde strands, finishing the hairstyle with a tie on the top. Every tug in the ribbon was a twist in the knot where her heart should have been.

Turning to face Sarah again, Eliana suddenly lost that radiance from before and retracted to her shy demeanor again. 

“Thank you, lady”, she mumbled, casting her eyes down and fumbling with her small hands. She, on the other hand, smiled fondly at the girl and held the child’s small hands between hers and caressed her dirty knuckles to ease her discomfort.

“No need to thank me, Eliana, you are doing me a huge favour! I’m not very good at taking care of my stuff, you’ll do a better job than me with it”, Sarah chuckled slightly to relieve the discomfort inside her chest. “We’ll see each other soon enough. Now go, it’s getting late.” 

Eliana turned around and started running towards the encampment again, but not before she hugged Martin once more. 

With each step Eliana took away from them, the knot loosened a bit, to the point where Sarah couldn’t feel it anymore. But, on the contrary, she couldn’t feel the heartbeats that should have been there, only emptiness dominated the space now. She turned around and began making her way to her horse, not wanting to spend not even a moment more there.

“Wait!” An angry deep voice made her stop before she took the second step towards Schaum. Turning around with wide eyes, she found Martin with his brows deeply furrowed and eyes ablaze with fury.

“What?”, she answered with her voice equally hard.

“I can’t let you do that to her!” He stomped towards her, jabbing a finger into her shoulder, just as she had done inside the tent.

“Do what?” Sarah slapped his hand away.

“Tricking her like that! She’s been through enough, she doesn’t need you aggravating her sadness and loneliness with false promises! Even if your intentions were good, can you imagine her heartbreak when you-”

“You think I was lying when I said I would come back? What makes you think that, you idiot?”

“You-”

“Thank you so much, priest. Within the hour we’ve known each other, you already called me a fool and a liar. If you have anything else to say, say it now! Since I’m that unreliable, I should have left you to starve in that damned chapel!”

His eyes lost that fire that had taken Sarah aback, he cast them down to avert Sarah’s now ablaze eyes and infuriated scowl. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed for his poor judgement.

She didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she walked to where Schaum stood, not glancing back to see if he was following.

Schaum was tied to a tree trunk and, as soon as Sarah came into its view, his ears turned forward and he lightly tapped his front legs on the ground, puffing lightly, pleased.

“Hello, Schaum!”, Sarah sang lightly, reaching slowly with her hand towards his snout.

However, when his snout almost touched her hand, he suddenly pulled it away, walking backwards, nostrils flaring and ears turned backwards in fear. She stopped her hand immediately and brought it to her nose, sniffing it lightly. It smelled of blood and sulphur. Of course, she had been inside an Oblivion Gate and, to Schaum, she was as menacing as any of those creatures.

Lifting her hands in an appeasing gesture, she slowly circled Schaum to reach her small backpack there, with a few apples inside it. Very carefully she pulled two apples from it and returned to Schaum’s front. 

“Schaum, it’s me. Remember Sarah?”, she summoned the kindest voice she could, offering one of the apples while keeping him at an arm's length. Schaum eyed the apple, eyed her face and brought his snout closer to her hand, sniffling it and the apple. Hesitantly, he nibbled at half of the fruit and then, the rest of it. 

“Very good!”, Sarah complimented and took a step back, offering the second apple. Schaum stepped out of the shadow he had hidden himself in and, as Sarah retracted her arm closer to her body, Schaum followed and ate the apple right in front of Sarah’s face.

“Very good, Schaum! I missed you!”, she sang again, laughing quietly when he began nipping at her hair. Caressing his snout, Sarah turned her head slightly to look at Martin, reaching one of her hands to indicate for him to do the same and spoke again to Schaum, “Schaum, this is Martin, he’ll travel with us.”

Martin’s light eyes alternated between her face and the horse’s snout and very carefully, walked towards the two, extending his arm that shook of exhaustion in front of his body while his eyes remained uncertain. When he came closer, Sarah spoke sardonically next to his ear: “Try not to upset him. Unlike me, he won’t think twice before giving you a kick.”

Martin limited himself to an irritated sideways glance but held out his hand for Schaum to sniff. He shouldn’t have been smelling as bad as Sarah because the horse was faster to touch his snout on his hand and Martin lightly caressed his snout as well, while giving his companion a pointed look that expressed very well what he meant.

“Just mount, priest”, she said, adjusting her equipment and weapons to her body.

“You won’t travel by horse?”, Martin asked while climbing.

“No, you can have it. Schaum will tire quickly if he carries both of us and someone has to be ready in case we are attacked.”

“Fine, then I’ll go on foot.”

“What? No. You can barely stand, I can see it.”

“And you can barely walk with your injured leg.”

“I’ve had it worse. You can have the horse.”

Martin dismounted, Sarah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“If we travel on Schaum just today, since we are both tired, will you please do as I say from tomorrow on, priest?”

“Whatever you say, hero.”

Jerk.

“Fine, then we’ll do this.”

Both mounted Schaum, Martin in front of Sarah, who struggled to put as much space as possible between them. 

“Excuse me, priest”, Sarah quietly apologized, before lightly holding his waist for support and balance. He jumped at the contact but quickly recovered.

“I said ‘excuse me’”, she sang sardonically just next to his ear, just as she did before.

“No, that’s alright.”

And Sarah motioned for Schaum to start making their way to Skingrad, praying to the Nine for patience to not smack their chosen one in the head. Not that they cared much for him anyway, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critics, opinions, thoughts are always welcome! Your comments make my day :) I hope you like it!


	9. Update

So, yeah, I'm putting the fic on a hiatus. A lot happened lately and I'm not in the right mindset to write. Plus, I made some changes in Sarah's backstory so this fic right here doesn't fit in what I planned for the character anymore. I'm thinking about re-starting the fic, with the changes in mind. So, maybe, just maybe, you'll see a new fic about Sarah but it'll be a different one, with a different name, although some of the chapters will remain the same. Thank you to those who have read until here! It really meant a lot to me and, if I do start a new fic, I hope you'll stick around with me!


	10. Update 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm an idiot

So hm, question: if I started a new fic for this pairing, would guys be interested? Because I made changes in the backstory that I rather like and idk I just really enjoyed writing this fic so far, even though I put it on a hiatus. Anyway, uni is kicking my ass and my personal life is a bit messy so I don't know when I would write it but IF I did, would you guys be interested? It would be a different fic, with different chapters. Anyways, tell me what you think?


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